Looming Dusk
by AdmiralCats
Summary: (Bad Company: Book 19) A USCM colonel sees greater potential in Vasquez, offering her placement in a specialized program. As her mentor, this colonel offers both professional and personal advice. Despite the colonel being just a mentor, his ability to help Vasquez with her personal feelings stirs paranoia within Drake about his own abilities in their relationship.
1. Chapter 1

Grabbing a rock jutting from the cliff face, Wierzbowski grunted and struggled to haul himself and Hudson upwards. "You could . . . do your part . . . and push up with your boots."

Hudson whimpered, clinging tighter to Wierzbowski. "God, that's a long way down. That's a long way down, man."

"Are you afraid of heights?" I asked.

"When I'm not supported by something, yeah, man." He was still pale and shaky after his climbing harness broke. We all know it was because it got caught in a tree and ripped from Hudson tugging on it, but we'd be joking that it was because he's too heavy for a long time to come.

"Is everything OK down there?" Hicks asked through our headsets.

"So far, so good," Wierzbowski replied. "Slow going, but . . . I can do this."

"I think you've got about six feet before reaching the top of the cliff. We're right here, waiting."

I remained alongside Wierzbowski and Hudson, despite being in an equally rough position with my smartgun strapped tightly to my chestplate and climbing harness. Vasquez had made it up OK, though.

We had been out in the mountains of Virginia for about two days, on the trail of armed kidnappers who had taken a vacationing Marine and his family from a rental cabin and deep into the woods. We didn't want this take very long, because God knows what was happening to these people.

Wierzbowski gave a pained groan as he pushed Hudson onto the top of the cliff. "You owe me something for this," he said.

"For saving my life? Absolutely, man," Hudson said.

"No. For making me carry your ass up a bloody cliff."

"We don't need to lower a rope for you guys, do we?" Spunkmeyer asked over the radio.

"We're good, thanks," Hicks replied, helping the three of us stand up. "Alright, let's keep going. Take in some water." He loosened the giant strap holding down my smartgun. "Breathe, Drake. Hudson, you OK?"

"I may've peed a little down there, but I'm OK, man," Hudson gasped in between gulping down water from his canteen.

Wierzbowski rubbed his face. "Oh, God."

"When my harness broke, not when you were carrying me, man."

"Still." Wierzbowski gave Hudson the finger.

"None of that," Hicks said. "Get moving. Stay together. Drake in front." He gestured for Crowe and Dietrich to follow him as they headed into the woods.

Almost as soon as we headed down our own path, Hudson's motion tracker started beeping. He looked up from it, and whispered, "Look, man, foxes."

Sure enough, a pair of young red foxes were standing on a hollow log, watching us. As we got closer, they turned and dashed into the darker parts of the forest.

"This is not a nature watch, Hudson," Wierzbowski hissed.

"I know, man."

"Actually, we should be paying attention to the wildlife," I said. "They'll act strange if something isn't right, which means we might be close to wherever these people are. Watch for birds and other animals fleeing."

We didn't have to watch for anything; as we took another step forward, gunshots rang out in the distance, followed by Hicks yelling, "_Get cover, now!_"

Running toward the sound of Hicks's voice, we were joined by Frost. "They're holed up in this old hunting cabin," he said. "We think the family's inside."

"So we gotta be careful," I replied.

"They might be using them as human shields," Wierzbowski added. "What do we have at our disposal that's nonlethal?"

"Smoke grenades, but how do we flush them out without accidentally hurting a hostage?" Frost asked.

"They started shooting at us, didn't they?" Hudson said.

"Yeah, but they could be trying to lure us into accidentally shooting a hostage," I replied.

"Gotta outsmart 'em, man."

"That's not happening with you around."

Hudson rolled his eyes. "We gotta do something."

I thought for a moment. "There's only two kidnappers. Two against eight heavily armed Marines. If we send four people behind the cabin, they'll be surrounded. There's no way they're able to guard both the front and back, and manage, what, four hostages?"

"Is that your plan, man? We split up and surround the cabin?"

I nodded. "You, me, Wierzbowski, Frost. Apone and the others already got the front. Radio them, Hudson."

"Got it, man."

In less than five minutes, the four of us were running through thick foliage to get behind the cabin. It turns out we were underestimating these people; bullets were whizzing by us, and then we heard a scream.

Behind us, Hudson was lying on the ground, blood gushing from a wound in his right side.

My heart was pounding harder and harder in my ears. Anger surged through my body, boiling in the pit of my stomach. My best friend had just been shot and somebody was going to pay.

"_Drake, what're you doing?!_" Wierzbowski watched as I crashed down the back door of the cabin. I know I remember seeing four people kneeling on the floor, blindfolded and tied up, and two standing with submachine guns.

The kidnappers definitely weren't expecting any of us to just barge in. The barrels of their weapons were aimed at my head and chest. For a split-second, I watched part of my life flash before my eyes, and I wasn't standing in the cabin anymore; I was standing in a Pittsburgh alley, faced with a group of guys who thought I'd be an easy target. I shot one of them with my dad's gun, then tried to escape in their car . . .

The smartgun was significantly louder than your average .22 handgun. It doesn't just make holes; it tears through things. The floor of the cabin was soaked in blood and littered with empty bullet casings, some of mine and some of theirs.

For a brief moment, there was complete silence. The silence was broken by Ferro and Spunkmeyer flying close overhead in the dropship, then Dietrich yelled, "We need an evac, now!"

Frost and Wierzbowski set about untying the hostages and taking them outside. Hicks took me aside, and looked unsure of what to say to me.

"You do realize that you could've gotten one of the hostages killed, right?" Hicks asked.

I felt like my emotions were going to spill out of me in an uncontrollable torrent. My voice cracked as I moaned, "They shot Hudson."

Hicks realized quickly there was no arguing with me. He led me back to where the others were leading the hostages out to a clearing, where the dropship was going to land. Dietrich and Crowe were carrying Hudson in a stretcher.

"Is he gonna be OK?" I asked.

"He will be if we get him to a hospital ASAP," Dietrich replied.

* * *

I sat in a waiting room for what felt like several hours. Wierzbowski joined me, holding styrofoam cups of hot chocolate. He looked around to make sure none of the others were listening, and sat next to me to say, "I don't think you did anything wrong. None of the civilians were killed."

I felt like I was being torn apart from the inside. On one hand, I was worried about Hudson. On the other, I was terrified that my actions were going to be evaluated, I'd get in trouble, and be sent back to prison. My emotions hadn't yet exploded, but they were getting close. It was only a matter of time.

Hicks walked over to us. "Drake, can I talk to you for a-"

"Not now," Wierzbowski said, calmly. "Can it wait till Hudson's in recovery?"

Hicks sighed. "I was just going to say that . . . he's not in trouble. There's nothing to worry about, because none of the hostages were hurt because of his actions. I was just talking that over with Apone."

It was roughly three hours later when Hudson was brought out to recovery. According to Dietrich, the wound was directly below the right side of his ribcage, and the damage was mostly muscular. There was damage to his intestinal lining, but would fully heal if Hudson didn't screw around during his recovery. Everything had been sewn up and he'd have a nice new scar to brag about to anyone willing to listen.

"So, this was pretty much a grazing?" Frost asked.

"A little bit more significant than a grazing. He got lucky," Dietrich replied.

While everyone else left, I stayed, not wanting Hudson to be alone when he woke up. Wierzbowski stayed as well, but at one point in the next hour or so, he said, "I'm going to get something to eat. Would you like anything, Drake?"

"No, thanks," I replied.

"It's been about two days since any of us have had a proper meal. You really should have something."

I sighed. "Something small. Half a sandwich."

Nodding, Wierzbowski walked over to me to pat my shoulder. "I'll bring water, too. Don't worry, I'll be back as soon as I can."

I didn't respond. When Wierzbowski left, I could no longer hold back my emotions. They came pouring out, like a burst pipe. I was well-aware Hudson wasn't conscious, but I still leaned over the bed and hugged him, sobbing hard.

I've cried lots of times. Hell, I've cried more than Vasquez. Most of the time, it's me crying for myself. This time, I was crying for both me and Hudson. Even though Hicks said I wasn't in trouble, I had already started getting angry at myself for what happened. I let my emotions get in the way of doing this mission correctly, and I don't know what to do with them. Am I supposed to ignore the fact that my best friend had been wounded? I don't know, and right now, I don't care.

I think I was mostly upset at the fact that I couldn't prevent him from getting injured in the first place. My face was planted in the pillow as I sobbed, hoping it would keep me somewhat muffled. Then I felt someone touch my left hand, and squeeze it.

Hudson's eyes were open, and he gave me a confused look before managing to process what was going on. "Hey, man . . . where the hell am I?"

"You're in a hospital," I said.

I let go of him so he could adjust himself and continue waking up. He rubbed his face, groaning. "Were the hostages rescued?"

"Yeah."

He went to put his arms over his chest, but came across the bandage on his right side. "Jesus," he muttered.

"Dietrich said you'll be fine in a few weeks. Muscle damage and it partially ruptured the stuff holding your intestines in place. Any further in and you might still be in surgery right now."

"Well, that explains why I feel like my whole right side is being scratched at, man."

There was silence between us for several minutes, as Hudson slowly woke up. He groaned and sighed, and occasionally looked like he was in pain-not excruciating pain, but an annoying dull ache.

Wierzbowski returned, carrying a small package of food for himself and me. He smiled when he saw Hudson sitting up. "Well, look who's up and at 'em. How're you feeling, Hudson?"

All he got was a moan.

Wierzbowski's smile faded, and he looked at me. "I take it he just woke up?"

"About ten minutes ago," I replied.

After handing me a hot sandwich wrapped in paper, Wierzbowski sat down. Hudson didn't even perk up at the scent of food. I couldn't imagine he was hungry anyways; I know I'm not after surgery, but I was starving now. Hell, I wished I got a whole sandwich instead of a half.

We had just finished lunch when a doctor, trailed by Dietrich, came in to look over Hudson. In short, he'd be released later in the afternoon, with a substantial list of things he couldn't do while healing. They wanted to keep him on soft food for a few days, to which Hudson said, "So . . . I can have milkshakes and pudding for breakfast, man?"

The doctor thought for a moment. "Well, we'd prefer it if you had something healthier-"

"Yes, you can have milkshakes and pudding for breakfast," I said.

Dietrich rubbed her face. "God, Drake, you're not helping."

* * *

We returned to base in the early evening, and felt a lot better after shedding our sweaty uniforms and getting showers. Hudson went to bed early, and not a soul could blame him.

In the morning, I thought that we'd all be able to put this mission behind us and learn from our mistakes, but, no, that didn't happen. Not a chance in hell, buddy.

As promised, Wierzbowski and I bought a lot of soft goodies for Hudson so he wasn't completely miserable during his recovery. He looked better that first morning after, but still didn't have a lot of energy. Best of all, he wasn't mad at me for what happened, especially after I detailed the story. That definitely made me feel a lot better, but it wasn't going to last for very long.

While Hudson, Wierzbowski, and I sat in the courtyard and talked, Hicks came out, and whispered, "Drake, Wierzbowski, you guys gotta come in. We got company."

"What about me, man?" Hudson asked.

"You can stay here. I've already told Hardy what's going on with you."

"Wait," I said, "Hardy? Colonel Hardy?"

"Yep. You know each other?"

"He granted Hudson permission to use one of the big dishes to hunt Jenzi last summer. Why's he here?"

"Didn't fully specify yet, but he said he wants to see you and Vasquez in private."

We followed Hicks back inside, and he led us down to Apone's office, where Hardy was chatting with the sarge. A smile came across his thin face when he saw us, and I noticed there was more gray and silver lining his temples. "Private Drake-" Hardy stuck out his hand, "nice to see you again." He looked at Wierzbowski. "I don't believe we've met. Colonel Jarris Hardy."

"Private Trevor Wierzbowski, sir." Wierzbowski shook the colonel's hand.

"Pleasure to meet you." Hardy looked at Hicks. "He's not from the prisoner act, is he?"

Hicks shook his head. "No, sir. Only Drake and Vasquez."

"Vasquez. Where's the young lady?"

"I'll go get her." Hicks jogged out of the room.

Apone gestured to Wierzbowski. "At ease. Go back to what you were doing."

While we waited for Hicks, Hardy looked at me from the corner of his eye. "General Russell speaks highly of you, Drake. I look forward to getting to know more about you in person."

My stomach clenched. _I don't think you do, sir._

Hicks returned with Vasquez, and, without a word, Hardy took the two of us down to the base's public complex-no one questioned him, not with those officer's stars on his uniform. Almost instantly, we got into one of the restaurants that privates never get to go in. We even got a nice secluded spot where we could talk freely.

I could tell Vasquez was trying not to look cold and closed off, and it was hurting her. However, I didn't say or do anything; there was no way I was revealing our relationship in front of an officer.

"Before we start talking about my real purpose here, I'd like to get to know the two of you a little better," Hardy started.

I gulped.

"Drake, you're from the city of Pittsburgh, correct?"

Shyly, I nodded. "Sir, I'm . . . I'm really, really sorry, but . . . I . . . don't want to talk about . . . growing up. Please."

"I don't, either," Vasquez added. "We really are sorry. There's just . . . things in our pasts we don't want to discuss with anyone."

"Understandable. Well, I guess I should dive right into why I came here to speak to you two specifically. See, since General Paulson laid down the framework for recruiting juvenile prisoners into the USCM, we've been trying to add to that, give you a little bit more to help you, I should say. Regardless of where you came from and what happened, it'd be best for you to have, say, a one-on-one mentor, not only to assist you with general military training, but also with personal issues, help you for when you're ready to become civilians. Though the two of you aren't necessarily youths anymore, we're calling it a 'youth outreach program,' because you were originally inmates within the juvenile prison system."

"So, anyone who came from that is eligible to join this program and get their own mentor?" Vasquez asked.

"Not everyone. Your individual records will be looked over, your sergeant and corporal will be talked to, and your actions during missions will be evaluated. It's a case-by-case basis."

In my head, I was hearing, "_You definitely won't qualify for this. That's sad. You're so pathetic, you can't even get into a program designed to help people like you. Because you're not like them. You're beyond help. You're a failure. Failure! FAILURE!_"

I stood up. "I have to use the bathroom. I'm sorry."

I made sure the men's room was empty before locking myself in a stall, and struggled to control my thoughts and feelings. You know the drill; I panicked, I cried, I let those thoughts overrun my head. I felt unbelievably helpless. I fucking embarrassed myself in front of an officer. First, I said I didn't want to talk about my past. Then, I decided that I automatically do not qualify for this youth outreach program.

I really am pathetic, aren't I?

* * *

Basically, all Hardy wanted was to tell us about this, and said he'd be staying with us for a day or two to observe us and talk to Hicks and Apone. Then, he'd take us under his wing, if we qualified. We weren't going to be taken away from our unit, which was good; we'd be taken to a location of Hardy's choosing, once a week, and for a few hours, he'd teach us stuff, and help us with any personal problems.

When I told Hudson and Wierzbowski, they both shrugged, saying something along the lines of, "It sounds good, but it's all up to you, Drake."

It was all up to me. Part of me doesn't want it. I don't even deserve it.

Hardy didn't just observe me and Vasquez. He looked at the rest of the squad as well. I found myself anxious, and prayed Hudson didn't embarrass the crap out of us by . . . I dunno, something stupid he usually does. As I said before, though, Hudson was still tired from the surgery to repair his injuries, so he wasn't his usual happy, cheery, obnoxious self. He did, however, sit and talk with Hardy for some time, and it sounded like it was actually mature.

Things settled down that night-well, physically. My brain was still going a hundred miles an hour, and I wanted it to just stop.

Alone in my room, I felt the wheels keep turning and turning . . . and turning . . . and turning. I got up to take a piss and I still didn't feel tired. Looking in the mirror, I took note of how I must've appeared to Hardy in the restaurant. Closed off. Sad. A little bit scared.

Sighing, I went back out into the bedroom, and sat on the bed. I opened the drawer on my nightstand to grab my journal, and saw the plastic smartgunner my young friend, Casey, had left for me, with a note about how I don't need to worry about bad dreams.

I've cried enough over the last two days. I missed Casey a lot. Taking care of him had made me feel so confident, so much better about myself. I was glad he'd been reunited with his family, but, dear God, did I wish he was here now, because my confidence was all but a shell of its former self.

* * *

_Question: In your opinion, does Drake act too much on his emotions?_


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up the next morning to someone gently shaking me and saying, "Hey . . . Drake . . . Wake up, man. Hey, I need something, man."

I opened my eyes to see Hudson standing over me, with an empty pudding cup in hand. "What do you want?" I grunted.

"I'm outta milkshakes and pudding, man. Hicks says I can't leave base yet, so . . . could you get me some more? I'll pay you back, I promise, man."

I rubbed my face before sitting up. "Hudson . . . 'soft food' doesn't have to be ice cream and pudding, buddy. The doc is right; you do need something healthy as well, like yogurt or applesauce."

"Can you get me at least one box of pudding, man? Please?"

"Fine, but you better pay me and Wierzbowski back every cent you owe."

"I will, man."

So, Wierzbowski and I had to go to Hicks's room to get permission to leave base early, and we both felt bad about waking him up. Not only that, we were afraid of Colonel Hardy catching us.

Hicks gave both of us a look as we tried to explain what we were doing, and I made sure to add that we felt awful about doing it. "Then don't do it. We have yogurt and applesauce here on base. Hudson can sit with the rest of us at breakfast like he's supposed to. You guys don't have to go out and buy him junk food. Go back to bed."

You can imagine the look on Hudson's face when he found out we weren't bringing him his milkshakes and pudding today, but I could also tell that he really wanted solid food again. The only solid thing he took in the last 24 hours was his pain pill.

Colonel Hardy actually sat with us instead of going down to one of the restaurants only officers are allowed in, probably so he can further observe us, but also so he could talk to Apone and Hicks. "I read through your most recent mission summary," he said, "and the updated records on your smartgunners. How long has Drake been receiving treatment for post-traumatic stress disorder?"

_Oh, shit._ I almost choked on my orange juice.

"About ten-eleven months," Hicks said.

Hardy nodded. "Ten-eleven months. Why so long? Were you unaware of some of the two-week programs we have for this?"

"We were aware, sir, but . . . I felt like Drake needed more individualized treatment. I think you might remember my treatment for bipolar two was around a year-and-a-half."

"You're right. Unfortunately, I haven't received any sort of training in regards to mental health. This might be . . . a hindrance to Drake becoming a part of the youth outreach program."

"Why's that, sir?"

"I don't think it'd be wise for this to cut into his treatment. It could become overwhelming, and would have the opposite effect on him, and, like I said, I have no training with this sort of thing."

"Understandable, sir. You could always talk to Doctor Ranelli about whether or not he feels Drake could handle it."

"Absolutely. I'll do that after breakfast, however, your most recent mission summary . . . might also be a reason why Drake won't be able to join the program."

"With all due respect, sir-"

"No civilians were killed, but that doesn't discount the fact that what Drake did was extremely dangerous and could've resulted in friendly fire and civilian deaths. You claim here he acted out on anger over Hudson getting wounded. Acting out on any emotion in a combat situation can get people killed."

"Wouldn't that be a good reason for Drake to join the program? Teach him not to do stuff like that?"

"Drake needs more training in regards to teamwork, which is something you two should be providing. As of now, I'm not considering Drake at all for this program, but, I am considering Vasquez. She seems to have a better grasp on adapting to the military lifestyle, she doesn't act out on emotion, she's not suffering from any mental disorders, she seems teachable. I think she'd benefit from what we have to offer."

"Drake would benefit, too-"

"He's not teachable. He's a good Marine, that I can tell, but it'd be a waste of my time if I have to stop every five minutes to manage a meltdown. I'm sorry."

I wanted to snap that I didn't want his program anyway, but I knew that would just make me look bad. Hudson was giving me a sympathetic look, while Wierzbowski rubbed my shoulder.

* * *

After breakfast, the three of us went to Hudson's room to talk. We sat in silence for a minute or two, then Wierzbowski said, "At least Vasquez is getting this opportunity. I hope it does her a lot of good."

"I don't care if I don't qualify," I muttered. "What matters is that Hardy said all of that out loud, like I wasn't there."

"You do realize, Drake, that he might be testing you. I don't think he wanted to disqualify you, and he might be giving you a second chance by seeing if you can clean up your act a little."

"I don't want it. I have been cleaning up my act, haven't I?"

"Compared to how you were when you first joined, I'd say you have, man," Hudson said. "Hell, I don't think you need any program. You got us, man."

I couldn't bring myself to smile. "Thanks, Hudson."

"Maybe Hardy just needs to observe you a little more," Wierzbowski said.

"No, like I said, I don't want this."

"Well, what're you going to do about Vasquez?"

"If she wants to do this, she can. I think we should talk about it, but . . . I dunno. She'll just tell me I'm fussy."

"Miranda likes it when I get fussy, man," Hudson said. "Aw, that reminds me, I need to tell her what happened. She hasn't heard from me in four days. I'll be she's worried."

"You didn't call her yesterday?" Wierzbowski shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Falling down on the job, Hudson."

"I was sleepy, man."

"Excuses, excuses."

"Yeah, you were cheating on her with vanilla milkshakes and chocolate pudding," I added.

"Fuck you guys. I'll go call her right now." Hudson got out of bed, and headed down to the comm room.

Even with that little laugh, I did not feel better about that morning. When I headed down to Ranelli's office for my daily session, I overheard him talking to Hardy. You might think it was a pretty drawn out conversation, but it wasn't.

"I can absolutely see this program working out for someone like Vasquez, but not Drake," Ranelli was saying.

"That's similar to what I said this morning," Hardy replied. "I mentioned his . . . he seems to rely a bit much on an emotional response-"

"That's how his brain works."

"Right, but . . . I'm also concerned about how his PTSD and therapy might effect his performance if I were to grant him entry into this program."

"Did you even ask if he's interested?"

"No, but it's an option for Marines coming from the juvenile delinquent-"

"An option. Which means he doesn't have to do it if he doesn't want to. Have you expressed your reasoning for why he won't qualify to him?"

"He was . . . nearby at the breakfast table when I said it to Hicks and Apone."

"So, in a way, you diminished him behind his back, in earshot."

"I didn't intend to diminish him, Doctor. Anyway . . . we both seem to be in agreement that this . . . wouldn't be a good fit for him."

"We are, but my reasoning is a bit different from yours. Drake is someone who tends to easily shut down in a situation where he's certain he'll be embarrassed, and it can be challenging to coax him out of it. That doesn't mean it's impossible, but you need to know him and understand his behavior and past to convince him to emerge and continue. Your lack of training doesn't help, and now that you have, in a way, embarrassed him, you'd have a much harder time getting through to him."

Hardy was silent for a moment, and then he nodded. "Thank you for your time, Doctor." As he left the office, he glanced at me, and paused. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped, and kept walking.

"Come on in, Drake." Ranelli gestured for me to come into his office, closed the door behind me. As I sat down, he whispered, "I take it you heard that little conversation?"

I nodded.

"Alright. Keep that between you and me. Hot chocolate or tea?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Hot chocolate, then. You're upset. Chocolate makes anyone feel better."

As Ranelli prepared my drink, I sighed, and said, "Wierzbowski told me that . . . Hardy might be seeing if I can clean up my act. Believe me, I want nothing to do with his fucking program, but . . . I don't want him to leave here, take my girlfriend with him, and think I'm . . . a failure."

"Well, you have two options. Yes, I understand Hardy is a high-ranking officer, but at the end of the day, the two of you are still men, and you can approach him and tell him how his comments made you feel. Being honest and upfront shows that you do have the capacity to think logically. After all, if you relied purely on your emotions, you'd be curled up in a ball somewhere crying your eyes out. The second option is letting him observe you further, but don't change anything about your behavior. Let him see who you are. Let him see your relationships with Hudson, and Wierzbowski, and Spunkmeyer." Ranelli placed a steaming cup in front of me.

"Yeah, prove to him that I'm everything he says I am," I muttered. "Sick, overly emotional, unteachable." I looked down at my cup. "I kinda feel like . . . not showing any emotion at all, in front of him."

"That would be detrimental to your mental health and progress. I wouldn't advise you do that."

I was quiet for a minute, thinking. "What do you think this's gonna do to my relationship with Vasquez?"

"Nothing. Hardy is not seeking a personal relationship with her, therefore you have nothing to worry about."

I hoped he was right, that I had nothing to worry about.

* * *

Hardy sat in a chair with a notepad and watched us during our daily exercises, our training sessions, and even when we were all in the lounge together. We were all aware of him, and tried to keep our goofiness to a minimum.

For me, that was easy. I could feel myself trying to fight the urge to revert back to the way I was before I got diagnosed, before I even encountered the silver flower. I was fighting against a pair of strong claws trying to pull me back into the void I've tried so hard to get away from . . .

All I could hear was my heartbeat. Everything was moving around me, somewhat slowly. I could faintly hear Spunkmeyer and Frost laughing. I could hear Hudson yelling about something. Then I saw Ferro standing over me.

"Drake? Drake, are you OK?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

Ferro sat next to me, taking my hand in hers. She's never experienced me like this before. I could feel her gently massaging my hand, and I tried to force myself out of my head by squeezing her hand. Everything returned to focus, and I took in a breath.

"I'm OK," I said.

"You didn't look it just a second ago," Ferro replied.

"I know. I'm sorry . . . you had to see that. Just . . . trying to fight stuff in my head, that's all."

"Do you want to be alone?"

I was about to say something when Spunkmeyer squeezed in between us, snuggling up to Ferro with a big grin on his face. "Hi."

"Hi," Ferro said. "What do you want?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you interrupting my conversation with Drake?"

Spunkmeyer's grin got bigger. "Why not?" He nuzzled Ferro's face.

"Seriously, sweetie, when are you going to shave?"

"Soon. Maybe. I dunno."

"Oh, I see. You just want a hug." Ferro put her arms around Spunkmeyer.

_I'm right here,_ I thought, sighing.

"Drake wants in." Spunkmeyer put his arm around me. "Group hug!"

"Group hug?" Suddenly Hudson was barreling toward us, and jumped on me. The air instantly rushed from my lungs.

"No! No group hug! Get off!" I grunted.

Hudson planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek.

"We need more people over here!" Spunkmeyer called.

Frost joined in, then Crowe joined in. Hicks was looking on and laughing. Wierzbowski shrugged before joining in, so I was squashed beneath him and Hudson.

"You guys're gonna shatter my ribcage," I muttered.

The only response I got was Spunkmeyer pulling me in and Hudson squeezing me.

Hardy was smiling at this, and looked at Hicks. "Nice to see everyone loose and happy."

You'd think that Hardy wouldn't approve of this . . . display of emotion. Was it because we were all happy together? Was it just me he had a problem with? Or maybe I'm just overthinking shit again.

* * *

The following day mostly consisted of Hardy taking Vasquez aside for private conversations. A part of me was surprised that she agreed to take part in this program, and I asked her why when we had the chance to be alone together.

"For me, this is another chance to let go of the past and make something better for myself," she replied. "There's nothing to lose, a lot to gain. I want to move on, and make the most out of this opportunity."

"I thought we were doing that together," I said.

Vasquez looked away, appearing as though she was trying to compose her thoughts. "I feel like I need a neutral party helping me as well. You . . . have a lot holding you back from devoting yourself to preparing yourself for becoming a civilian again. I still love you-always will-but . . . we really haven't been taking any steps forward to letting go and moving on."

"That doesn't mean we can't start trying."

"And when are we going to do that? You've said it several times, and you haven't."

My chest hurt. "You haven't expressed a lot of enthusiasm, either-"

"That went down the drain a long time ago. Maybe this is a chance for me to gain the skills I need to deal with you and help you."

"'Deal with me?'"

"OK, that came out wrong. I . . . Drake, it . . . Are you mad that I'm doing this?"

"No."

"Then . . . let's not talk about it anymore. I'm doing this for myself."

_You wouldn't feel like you needed it if I put more effort into this relationship, _I thought. I couldn't bring myself to say that, as I felt it would just ignite an argument.

After Hudson got permission to leave base, the two of us went into the city to talk, and so Hudson could have his first solid food in three days. We make a lot of jokes about him always being hungry, but I wasn't making any sort of wisecracks today; I knew how he felt. At the same time, though, I told him to take it slow, because his system was probably a little weak from only having soft food for a few days.

I expected him to tell me to fuck off and let him eat, but instead, he nodded and actually took his time with ordering what he wanted, and that baffled me a little. "Is . . . everything OK?" I asked.

"Yeah. I'm meeting Miranda tomorrow night at her place. I feel bad I didn't tell her as soon as possible what happened. She was really worried the whole time we were gone and then I tell her I got hurt. I just . . . wanna go to her right now, man."

"Then do it. Nobody cares where you are as long as you're back by curfew," I said.

"She's at work, man," Hudson moaned.

"Oh. Then never mind." I took a sip of my drink.

"Plus, you said you wanted to talk to me 'bout something. What is it?"

"Earlier, I talked to Vasquez about why she wants to do this youth outreach program. She said . . . some of it has to do with the fact that . . . I'm not making any effort to move on and that I don't do anything when I say I'm going to do something, case in point, helping her with her problems. I mean, she's right; I haven't been putting a lot of effort into our relationship. Now, I'm a little worried about . . . what could happen while she's in this program. What if Hardy gives her what she really, really needs, and she decides that I was never helpful in the first place?"

"You guys've been dating, what, four years? If she felt like you weren't helpful, she woulda dumped you a long time ago. I have talked to her with you not around, man, and I don't think she'd let something like this get in the way of the fact that . . . you two bonded for a reason. This wasn't a random meeting off the street. You met and fell in love in prison, man! You've got this bond with each other that can't be broken. No matter what happens, you make up in the end. I've seen you fight, and you both realize that it's not gonna split you apart. Whenever you were away, I could tell that she missed you and wanted you back. I think this is a matter of you letting your inner demons get the best of you, man. They want you to be upset and lonely and sad. You don't. Hey, if you feel like saying something that might start a fight between you two, just come to me, man. I'll listen to you."

I nodded, letting out my breath. "You're right. This is all . . . all me."

Hudson gave me a sad look. "Just don't blame yourself, man. Don't let yourself suffer. We're here if you need us."

Something I had bottled up earlier burst. I put my head in my hands, feeling my frustration run free in my head. "I shouldn't be feeling this way, but I am. Ever since yesterday morning, I've just felt . . . like I'm not good enough for anyone."

"Hardy barely knows you, man. He hasn't had time to see how good a man and Marine you are."

"Part of me feels like I'm not good enough for Vasquez, either."

"What did I just say, man-"

"I know what you just said! That doesn't negate the fact that there's some part of me that feels _worthless!_ I shouldn't be feeling worthless! I don't know why I feel worthless! It's there, and I don't know how to get rid of it!" My face was warm and tears were running down my cheeks. "Ever since Casey left, I-I've lost all that confidence. I felt good about myself taking care of him. I felt like I was capable of something. Where did it go? Why did it disappear?"

Hudson watched me fall apart while munching on a basket of waffle-cut fries a waitress had put in front of him. He glanced down at the basket, then at me. "I wish I had a solid answer for you, man, but . . . I don't. This might be one of those things where you need to take some time and figure out your own answer, 'cause I got nothing. I'm really sorry." He pushed his basket toward me. "Want one? They're really good, man. Nice and crispy and-hey, where're you going?"

I stormed away from the table, feeling as though I had been dragged back into that dark void.

* * *

_Question: Do you think Drake's response to being disqualified would be the same regardless of whether or not Hardy said it in front of him?_


	3. Chapter 3

There's no one way to crash. It can hit you from behind, or you can see it coming a mile away. With me, I knew it was coming, but I couldn't stop it. I didn't want to stop it.

I know now that I shouldn't have gotten upset with Hudson. He doesn't deserve it. But, that just made me want to pile the blame on myself. No one else was in the wrong here, just me.

I also know I really scared the crap out of Hudson by getting up and walking away. Even though he's not supposed to run with his injury, he came running after me. He pushed through people until he had a clear view of me storming down the street, and then tackled me.

"Don't give up, man! Come on, I know you still got a lotta strength in you! I-" Still holding my shoulder, Hudson leaned over, grabbing his side and making a high-pitched sound.

I was still partially stuck in my head. I was still mad at myself for what happened, and I definitely haven't fixed anything by letting Hudson hurt himself coming after me.

Tiny spots of blood were appearing on his T-shirt. Letting Hudson lean on me, I walked with him back to base. I could make things better by getting him to Dietrich before things got worse. Today's just an off today. Tomorrow will be better. We'll forgive each other. That's that. Right?

After handing Hudson off to Dietrich, I went to find someplace quiet to sit and analyze my thoughts. I figured I'd clean my smartgun; recently, I've been finding that it calms me down, and it was Ranelli who planted that in my head after I started getting upset over not having Casey around anymore. My smartgun is mine and no one else's. I'm the one who takes care of it. It's not the exact same thing as taking care of a child or an animal, but it's the closest thing I have, so I treat it as such.

However, I found the armory was occupied. I was unhooking my gun from its rack when I heard a soft rustle, and peered around the weapon lockers to see Spunkmeyer and Ferro snuggled against each other. Their backs were to me, so they had no idea I was in here.

"Did you hear something?" Ferro whispered.

"I hear you breathing," Spunkmeyer whispered back.

"No, for a moment I thought someone was in here with us."

I gave my smartgun a quick pat before quietly putting it back in its rack.

"I don't hear anything," Spunkmeyer said, pulling Ferro closer and resting his head on top of hers. "You're just anxious, that's all. There's nobody here. Just me and you."

I sniffed myself. _I must've grabbed the scentless deodorant instead of the sexy stuff this morning. They definitely would've smelled me._

There was silence, aside from the fans and generators. Ferro kissed Spunkmeyer's cheek. "You were being a dork yesterday, you know that?"

"I'm _your_ dork."

"Yes, you are, but I was talking to Drake, and it was a little rude of you to just pop up in between us like a little gopher."

"OK, fine. I'm sorry. Hey, at least we got a group hug out of it."

"Yeah, a group hug that included Wierzbowski and Hudson. That was fun."

Spunkmeyer laughed. "It was fun. At least we didn't get in trouble from the visiting colonel."

There was more silence, and then Ferro said, "Vasquez was telling me that Drake's really upset over her taking part in Hardy's program."

"He was really upset over the fact that Hardy just listed the reasons he doesn't qualify out loud at the breakfast table. I've noticed he's been a bit down lately, poor guy. I mean, I know he doesn't care about being in the program, but . . . Hardy really shouldn't have said what he said in front of everybody."

"Drake's a tough guy. He'll pull through this."

"What about him and Vasquez? They aren't fighting, are they?"

"I hope today was it and they'll go back to loving each other. I know Drake was a little obnoxious on that double date we went on, but they love each other. I'd hate to see them angry at each other."

"They've been dating four years. They've probably done the argument rodeo before. They can fix it. I know they can." Spunkmeyer kissed Ferro's forehead. "Let's focus on us for now."

* * *

I was admittedly jealous over Spunkmeyer and Ferro's successes, and I really didn't need jealousy being mixed into the already toxic concoction of emotions in my stomach.

Throughout the rest of the day, I really was hoping that I'd wake up the next morning feeling better. Today would be in the past, and I can move on.

Look, I'm not an idiot. I'm well aware that based on past experience, I won't be able to move on. It's going to become another rock I have to drag around with the rest of my problems. I didn't want to let that happen, so I tried to fight it. I kept telling myself that I just needed to accept everything and move on.

But, I couldn't. The idea that I wasn't good enough for Vasquez anymore was the most glaring and ugly issue. The thoughts and fears swirled around my head, and they just wouldn't stop. They were especially problematic at night; almost as soon as I drifted off, I got sucked into a world I didn't want to be in. I dreamt I was alone. Vasquez had left me. I was walked out onto the roof of a skyscraper, seeing the rest of my unit gathered around a picnic table, talking and laughing among themselves, enjoying a beautiful day.

As I got closer to the edge of the building, the city continued to sprawl out before me. I was a little dizzy looking down, seeing traffic moving slowly below. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

I got up on the edge, taking one last breath . . . and then I dropped. Right before I struck the pavement, I shot upright in bed, breathing hard.

I tried to calm down, telling myself it was just a bad dream. Glancing to my right, I saw Casey's smartgunner on my nightstand, with his note about protection from bad dreams. "You're falling down on the job," I hissed, dropping the toy in my drawer, and slamming it shut. Suddenly feeling awful, I covered my face, tears streaming down my cheeks.

There was a quiet knock at the door. "Drake? Everything OK in there?" Hicks asked. When he didn't get a response, he opened the door. "Hey, what's going on?"

I tried to think of a way to tell him about my dream without letting the cat out of the bag about my relationship with Vasquez. "Just . . . Hardy's words about me . . . sinking in too deep," I said. "I dreamt I . . . jumped off the roof of a building. I swear, Hicks, I'm not suicidal. It was a horrible dream. It wasn't a reflection of-"

"Relax. I'm not panicking. I've had dreams like that as well. They ain't pleasant, I know. Take a deep breath." He waited until I looked somewhat calmer. "Do you want me to talk to Hardy about . . . what happened a couple mornings ago?"

"No. Please. I . . . It's just gonna prove he's right. He _is_ right. I'm not teachable. I'm . . . not in control of my emotions."

"You've come so far compared to where you were last year, Drake. I know it doesn't feel like it, but that's what I'm observing with you. You were almost alone last year. Now, you've got Hudson and Wierzbowski as your best friends, and nobody can separate you guys. You're making progress. Don't let this beat you down. Keep fighting. We're all behind you, I promise."

* * *

Hardy joined us at the table again for breakfast this morning, but instead of sitting with Hicks and Apone, he got in between Hudson and Spunkmeyer. "You boys don't mind, do you?" he asked.

"I thought your spot was up there." Spunkmeyer gestured to a seat next to Apone.

"I don't have a designated spot, son. Besides, I'd like to get to know each of you a little better."

"OK." Spunkmeyer put a spoonful of grits in his mouth before sticking out his hand to Hardy. "Hi. I'm Spunkmeyer. I lift heavy shit with a powerloader and I grew up in the Big Apple."

Hardy shook Spunkmeyer's hand. "I've got some family in New York. Staten Island, to be exact."

"Ain't that nice. I'm from Manhattan."

"And I'm Hudson." Hudson grabbed Hardy's hand and shook it firmly. "I grew up in the middle of nowhere in Minnesota, man. I'm the combat technician, I got the best girlfriend in the world-wanna see some pictures?" Hudson fumbled around his trouser pockets for his wallet, and then opened it to reveal lots and lots of pictures of himself and Miranda.

"Thank you, Hudson." Hardy looked like he regretted this, and looked at Wierzbowski. "You're Wierzbowski, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Wierzbowski replied, softly.

"You seem to be on the quiet side. I like that."

Hudson sneezed loudly. I made a face when I saw spit on the table.

Wierzbowski glanced around, looking a little uncomfortable. "I . . . I just prefer to sit and observe rather than talk, sir."

Hardy nodded, and then looked at me. I think I was giving him a bit of a dirty look, because he suddenly frowned. "Drake."

"Yes?" I said.

"Perhaps we can get off on a better foot this morning. Put . . . a couple days ago behind us."

"I can't."

"W-Well-"

"No, I can't. I can't put the past behind me."

Hudson folded up his wallet, quietly putting it back in his pocket. "Oh, man," he mouthed.

Spunkmeyer's eyes were switching between me and Hardy. His cheeks were full of grits and he wasn't chewing as he stared, looking scared I was about to explode.

The whole table was staring at us.

I felt as though everything I had been concealing before was leaking out of me. An explosion was inevitable, and it was going to be ugly. Very, very ugly.

"Why bother trying to get to know me now? You already know everything about me, and you barely talked to me," I said. "You're right. Everything you said that morning is correct. I act on what I feel. I'm unteachable. I'm _sick_. I don't deserve any opportunity you throw my way. I'm already fucking up my second chance! Anything else you try to give me, I'll fuck that up, too! I'm a failure of a human being! I suppressed my emotions for a long time, and now I'm being told that in order to succeed, I gotta suppress them again! What do you want me to do?! Am I not good enough for _any_ of you?! Even after trying to fix myself, I'm still . . . _worth nothing!_"

"Drake, that's enough," Hicks said, calmly. "Go on down to Ranelli's office."

I threw my tray down before storming down the hall. As I went, an argument promptly erupted, starting with Hudson.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but if you hadn't said any of the shit you did Monday, we wouldn't have this issue, man!"

"Hudson, sit down!" Hicks growled.

"My job was not to come here and deeply analyze your smartgunner's mental issues," Hardy snapped. "I pointed out what I saw, and that's it! I'm not dealing with this. If he's upset with what I said, that's his problem. I'm not his therapist."

"_Bullshit!_ You knew about his PTSD when you read his papers!" Hudson shouted.

"I ain't fucking tolerating insubordination in front of an officer!" Hicks yelled. He went around the table, and grabbed Hudson by the arm. "Brig. Seven hours. And no food."

I was in the hallway just outside of sick bay when I saw Hicks dragging Hudson to the brig, and turned around to see Ranelli had been watching, too.

"You claim you're worth nothing, and yet you mean the world to Hudson," Ranelli said.

"You heard everything?" I asked.

"I had just come in from the courtyard, enjoying my coffee, when I heard your explosion. I figured it wouldn't be long before you were down here, so, I guess I came inside just in time." Ranelli gestured for me to follow him.

"It was wrong of me to do that," I sighed, sitting on the couch.

"Not necessarily." Ranelli pulled a box of tea from his desk. "As I've said before, this is a matter between two men. Hardy is an officer, but he's still a human being with his own traits and ways of thinking, as are you. Both of you were correct in some aspects, and both of you were wrong in some aspects. There's no good side or bad side."

"That doesn't help. I'm sorry."

Ranelli was quiet for a moment, watching steam start to come out of the teapot. "Well, Drake, what would you like me to say? My job is not to automatically side with you on every argument. That's coddling, and it doesn't help you in any way, shape, or form, do you understand?"

I nodded.

"Yes, what Hardy said was hurtful to you, but you need to be the bigger man by not letting it get to you-"

"C-Can I say one thing?"

"Sure."

"I . . . Th-This morning wasn't just about . . . what Hardy said about me. Yesterday . . . Vasquez and I had an argument. Trust me, I don't care that she wants to do this, but . . ." I clenched my fists, tears choking me, "she told me it's because I . . . I haven't been helping her when she needs it, and I'm really scared about what this's gonna do to us."

"That is between you and her, but, my personal theory is that she will see that whatever personal help she gets from Hardy is not the same as what she gets from you. Your bond with her, based on everything you've told me in the past, is unbreakable. This won't tear apart your relationship. However, you both have to do your part to keep that relationship strong, and only you know how to do that. After all, you're the one who's been dating her for four years, not me."

* * *

When I left sick bay, I immediately went looking for Vasquez, and I almost panicked when I couldn't find her. I did find Wierzbowski in the courtyard, and I said, "Where's Vasquez?"

"Her and Hardy went to one of the base classrooms," Wierzbowski replied. "He won't bring her back for another hour or so. What do you need?"

"I just wanted to talk to her." I sat across from Wierzbowski, rubbing my face. "I wanted to fix things."

"Well, it's good you want to fix things. It's a step in the right direction. She'll be back. It's not like he's taking her away forever."

"Why do I feel like that's what's happening, though?"

"You're scared. Normal reaction, if you ask me." Wierzbowski glanced at me, looking over my face. "I have noticed you're very protective of her."

"Is that bad?"

"No, as long as you don't become overbearing. I'm protective of Eliza. Hudson's protective of Miranda." Wierzbowski looked toward the door, sighing. "Hudson definitely overstepped a boundary this morning. I hope he's doing alright, though."

"At least he's only in the brig seven hours instead of seven days," I said.

"Yeah. Hicks doesn't want anybody talking to him."

"Is Hicks OK?"

"He was pissed that everyone was misbehaving in front of an officer. How did you think he was going to act?"

"You got a point. Sorry." I gave a heavy sigh. "Last couple days have felt off."

"Not to sound mean, but everyone's noticed. Frost asked me about you yesterday, wanted to know if you were OK. Hudson and Spunkmeyer were talking about you last night, in the lounge. So, you can't pull the crap of 'nobody cares about me,' because we all care about you."

"It's not that I think no one cares. I have moments where it just feels that way. I'm sorry."

"No, I should be sorry, because I have moments like that, too." Wierzbowski looked down at his water bottle. "I think the last couple of days have been getting to everybody."

_And it's my fault,_ I thought.

When Hudson got released from the brig, he wasn't at all happy or cheery when he sat down with me, Wierzbowski, and Spunkmeyer in the lounge. He sat at the coffee table, and I noticed tears rolling down his face.

"How're you doing, buddy?" I asked.

"I had to cancel my date with Miranda, man!" Hudson moaned.

Spunkmeyer patted Hudson's shoulder, and Wierzbowski got up to get a couple packages of tiny Oreos from the vending machine.

Hudson was straight-up crying. After dropping the Oreos in front of him, Wierzbowski grabbed a napkin and wiped Hudson's face.

"There, there, no tears. You'll see her soon," Wierzbowski said, giving Hudson the napkin.

His crying gradually subsided, and then he talked about what happened while he was in the brig. "Everything was brightly lit and there was no privacy, man," he said. "I had to pee and there were three people watching-two guards and the guy in the cell across from me. I really had to go, but no one was moving and I couldn't say anything, so I went in front of them."

"At least you could go," Spunkmeyer replied. "I can't do anything if anyone's within twenty feet of me. Nothing. Even if I really gotta go, if there's somebody close by, I can't get anything out. You know how they want yous to give a piss sample when you go to boot camp? I couldn't do that. I made the mistake of trying to argue with the fucking drill instructor, and he threatened to squeeze the sample out himself."

"I don't think we needed to know that, Spunkmeyer," I said.

"How'd you get your sample, then, man?" Hudson asked.

Of course, Spunkmeyer was thrilled to continue his story. "Oh, I was so terrified that I finally pissed right then and there. But, that was it. When I had to do the second one, I whispered my issue to the medic, and he took me aside and says, 'Go use the head down the hall. It's empty.' And I gave him a perfect sample."

Wierzbowski sighed. "Spunkmeyer?"

"Yeah?"

"We don't need to know."

"Like you don't have anything embarrassing to share, 'Ski."

Wierzbowski gave him a dirty look. "Piss off."

"I can't." Spunkmeyer burst into laughter.

Ferro had overheard the conversation. She quietly came over, and then swatted the back of Spunkmeyer's head.

"Ow, what was that for?!"

"For being disgusting."

"In all honesty," I said, "Spunkmeyer will never be as disgusting as Hudson."

"I don't care!" Ferro pinched Spunkmeyer's cheek. "If no one wants to hear it, you need to shut up."

"I love you, too." Spunkmeyer gave Ferro a goofy grin.

A smile tugged at the edges of Ferro's mouth. She quickly leaned over to kiss him, and then went back to whatever she had been doing before.

Their moment was brief, but I spent the rest of the night thinking about the little moments I had like that with Vasquez.

* * *

_Question: How has Drake's reaction to being disqualified already effected his relationships with the rest of his unit?_


	4. Chapter 4

Shortly before lights-out, I left the lounge to talk to Vasquez in her room. I really tried not to seem anxious or sad, and what better way to cover my anxiety than to act goofy and mushy?

Vasquez was still in the shower, so I closed the bedroom door and took off my T-shirt. I then lay across the bed in a dumb pose, and put Vasquez's bandana between my teeth. Around five minutes later, she came out of the bathroom, tucking her shirt in . . . and didn't pay me a second glance. "What is it, Drake?"

"Hi, honey," I said.

"Get my bandana out of your mouth. That's disgusting."

I dropped the bandana.

"Seriously, what do you want?"

"How was your day?"

"Fine." Vasquez opened a drawer to put some of her laundry away. "Hardy was very impressed with me today, after I showed him what I can do with my smartgun."

"I'm always impressed with your smartgun." I rolled on my back to expose my belly, to look "vulnerable and open."

"I know, Drake. I'm just glad Hardy's going to take me seriously." Closing her drawer, Vasquez turned around to see me on my back. "Really?"

"What?"

"You look like a fucking moron."

"You still love me?"

"That's a stupid question." Vasquez gave me a dirty look. "I know what you're doing; you're still upset over me being part of Hardy's program."

I shrugged. "I'm not . . . upset. Just . . . I guess 'worried' is the right word."

"Why?"

"Because you wouldn't feel like you needed this if . . . I was doing a better job."

"Drake, that's not why."

"Then why did you tell me this is because I have too much of a focus on my problems-"

"That's not your fault! I'm not mad at you, and I don't want to trade you for anyone else. I need help, too."

"I'm supposed to be that help."

"You're as clueless as I am about what we're going to do when we get our discharges. This isn't about me deciding I don't love you anymore." Vasquez knelt in front of the bed, taking my face. "I do love you, Drake." She put her forehead against mine. "Please, don't let the crazies in your head convince you otherwise."

* * *

Hicks was looking frazzled this morning, and it made the rest of us a little on edge. You think Hudson and I exploding on Hardy is bad? Hicks exploding will probably get the unit disbanded.

We made a silent agreement to just keep our mouths shut and do our best to behave. After breakfast, I finally got around to giving my smartgun some tender loving care, and it needed it. I haven't touched it since we got back from the rescue mission in Virginia, and it still had dirt and dust on it. I felt bad, to be honest. I mean, I wouldn't let my kid go around covered in dirt for five days, so I shouldn't do that to my smartgun.

I've seen Spunkmeyer basically treat his powerloader like it's his baby, and, yeah, I've made fun of him for it, so I was really glad I was completely alone in the armory. Spunkmeyer would never let me hear the end of it if he heard me whispering my apologies to my smartgun for not cleaning it as soon as we came back to base.

The weapons cleaning room needs an overhaul, if you want me to be honest. You have to leave the door open, or else you'll suffocate from the fumes of five or six different cleaning agents. We've all went to command about upgrading the armory and especially the cleaning room. Generally, you can't have more than two people in there-well, you can have two riflemen in there, but smartgunners have to go one at a time. Not to mention, you can't clean flamethrowers in there, because it's too dangerous. Wierzbowski and Crowe have to take the flamethrowers outside, and being able to do that is dependent on the weather.

There are handwritten labels on everything for whether it's for smartguns or pulse rifles or handguns or anything else we might carry. There's even a thingy to sharpen our knives with. I set my smartgun on a rack, making sure it was empty and the battery slot was covered. You don't want any kind of fluid getting in there.

I spent the next half-hour scrubbing the dirt and crap from my weapon. I looked it over several times to make sure I didn't miss any spots. My head was hurting a little as I stood there, waiting for everything to dry before I put the gun back in the armory. Once the smartgun was dry and looking much better than when I brought it in, I picked it up, gave the barrel a kiss, and put it back in its designated rack, promising not to neglect it again.

I left the armory feeling . . . somewhat better. Not a hundred percent, but definitely better. As I headed down the hall, back to living quarters, I was stopped by Hicks. He looked less irritable than earlier, but I wasn't sure whether to take that as a good sign or not.

"I need to talk to you for a minute," Hicks said, his voice lowered.

"Am I in trouble?" I asked.

"No. I just want to talk to you, man-to-man."

I shrugged. "OK."

We walked out to the courtyard, where it was just the two of us. Hicks was quiet for a few minutes, looking like he was trying to collect his thoughts. "Alright, Drake, I'm going to be straightforward with you; ever since Casey was reunited with his family, I've noticed that you've been . . . sinking, a little. Believe me, I get that recovery is not linear, but I want to know . . . what's going on in your head right now."

"I don't think it can get anymore obvious. I'm still kinda pissed with Hardy. In terms of Casey, I . . . I felt good about myself when taking care of him. I thought that confidence would stick around, but it didn't, and I don't know what to do to get it back."

Hicks nodded. "What would you like me to do?"

I gave him a confused look. "I'd like you to snap your fingers and make my PTSD disappear. Seriously, what . . . what else can anyone really do at this point? I'm going to my therapy sessions every day. What more do I need? I definitely don't want to do that two-week program Hardy mentioned. I can't recover in two weeks. Look at how long it's taken me to get to this point. Almost a year."

"Some people actually do respond well to two-week treatment. You wouldn't. That's why I chose not to put you through that. You're not failing just because it's taking you a long time to pull through this. Setbacks happen. Doesn't matter how long it takes you to get back up. All that matters is you are picking yourself back up. Keep telling yourself that."

* * *

You'd think that Hudson would come back absurdly happy after a date with Miranda, but, not this time. He came back way earlier than he normally does, and he was visibly upset, eyes red from crying.

Miranda really wasn't happy about the fact that Hudson didn't contact her as soon as possible when we had all gotten back to base, especially since he had gotten hurt and she was worried about him. In short, they had a bit of a fight, and Hudson really didn't want to fight, so he left.

As someone who has gotten into fights with my girlfriend many times, I know it's really not wise to just walk away. If you just walk away, you're letting everything fester, so the next time you see each other, all you're gonna do is fight again, because nothing was solved the first time around.

Wierzbowski and I sat with Hudson in his room. I think we both felt bad seeing him like this, but we weren't entirely sure how to help him. I really didn't want to just sit there and comfort him. Hell, I think he needed to learn how to figure things out with his own girlfriend. Can't keep coming to us for help.

Perhaps this last week was a giant streak of bad luck for all of us. Only thing I can really say is that it happens, but I wish it'd happen on days where we didn't have a high-ranking officer visiting us.

I wanted to wake up the next morning and realize that it's all been just a dream. Of course, it's not a dream; I've got several pages of journal entries to prove it hasn't been a dream. However, that morning was a bit different; today was mail day. Vasquez, Spunkmeyer, Crowe, and I usually sit out, because we don't have anyone who sends mail to us. I now know why Spunkmeyer's there, but Crowe and I haven't talked all that much. I really wasn't in the mood to develop a new relationship with anyone today anyway.

Frost walked into the room, holding an envelope. "Drake? You got something, bud."

I frowned. "Where's it from?" _Probably more shit from the Pittsburgh school district._

"It's from Georgia."

My heart skipped a beat. _Casey._ I took the envelope from Frost, saying a "thanks" before sitting down and opening it.

The letter was actually written by his parents. Basically, it was one long thank-you note for all I did for their son, along with stuff about how Casey wouldn't stop talking about me and how he really missed me.

God, my chest _hurt_. My throat became tight, and a tear rolled down my face. I tried to swallow past more oncoming tears, but they continued to flow.

I didn't realize Spunkmeyer had moved next to me. He put his arm around me, and got a good look at the letter. "Kid really misses you, huh," he whispered.

_I miss him, too._ I wanted to say that, but I was already an emotional mess. If I said anything, I was going to completely burst into tears.

Spunkmeyer seemed to get that hint. He didn't say another word, and kept his arm around my shoulder.

"What'd you do, man? Why's he crying?" Hudson asked when he walked in. He was carrying nothing.

"I didn't do anything. Just shut up."

Hudson sat next to me, looking at the letter. He glanced at me. "Squirt wrote to you, man." After I didn't respond, Hudson put his arm around me. "You really miss him, dontcha?"

I nodded, and Hudson patted my shoulder.

"He's never gonna forget us, man, and especially you. You saved his life and you spent more time with him than the rest of us. Hey, there's something else in the envelope, man."

I pulled a single photograph out of the envelope. It was a picture of a group of Casey's toy Marines-the ones I bought for him-and there were index cards with names in front of each of them. Our names. And I was out in front, leading the charge.

"It's all wrong," Spunkmeyer said. "Me and Ferro should be kissing."

Hudson gave him a playful push. "Hang on, am I holding a graham cracker, man?"

"Yep. You'd be in heaven if you had a giant graham cracker, though."

"Oh, man, I would."

I grinned a little. "You're right, Hudson, I don't think he's gonna forget us. Really hope he doesn't remember all the curse words when playing."

"With the swear jar? I don't think he's forgetting anytime soon," Spunkmeyer said. "And it'll be Hudson's character that gets him in trouble with his parents."

"I think he's smart enough not to do that, man," Hudson replied, smirking. "He's a good kid."

I was smiling and laughing, but I still had an awful ache in my chest.

Normally, if I'm feeling a little down, I seek a hug from Vasquez. The only issue with doing that today was that she was with Hardy.

I still had options for getting a hug from a female companion-well, one other option, because Dietrich doesn't seem like the hugging type, and she doesn't like me. That left Ferro.

I found her leaving the pool chamber after vacuuming, heading toward the laundry room to drop off her bathing suit and towel. "Hi, Drake, what's up?" she asked, letting me walk alongside her.

"Hi, I . . . Can I ask you a stupid favor?" I asked.

"No favor is stupid, unless you're asking me to cheat on Spunkmeyer."

"Well, I hope you don't interpret this as cheating on Spunkmeyer. I dunno, you . . . you heard what . . . Casey sent me today, right?"

"Yeah. You'll have to show me that picture. It sounds so cute."

"It is. Anyway, I still miss him, and usually, I'd go to Vasquez for this, but I need a hug. Sounds stupid, sounds wussy, but, yeah . . ."

Ferro gave me a somewhat sympathetic look before hugging me. We stood there for a few minutes, and then she looked up at me. "Alright, I did you a favor, now . . . can you do one for me?"

"Sure, unless you're asking me to cheat on Vasquez." I smirked.

"No, not like that. Just . . . can we go somewhere and talk privately?"

"Are you gonna confess your love for me?" I laughed.

A somewhat weak smile crossed over Ferro's face. "No. Be careful, Drake, that joke might get you in a lot of trouble." She picked up her bag, and continued walking down to the laundry room. While opening up a washing machine, she glanced around to make sure we were alone. "I want some advice, that's all."

"Advice on what?"

"On Spunkmeyer. I . . . think he's trying to move too fast."

I thought for a moment. "What exactly is he doing that you feel is too fast?"

"It's only been, what, two weeks since we started 'officially' dating and he wants to start sleeping together."

"You guys have known each other for five years-"

"That doesn't mean anything." Ferro closed the washer and pressed the start button. "Does it?"

"By now, you should have a good idea of whether or not you want to sleep with him. Do you . . . not want to? I won't say a word to anyone, so you can be honest."

"I don't know. I just . . . I feel like this started because he felt pressured after seeing you and Vasquez and I told him years ago that a romantic relationship in the workplace would never function and . . . you know, people thinking we actually were seeing each other. It's just a big mess and I don't know what to feel anymore. It doesn't mean I don't like him, though. That's not true at all. I do like him. I just don't know if it's . . . in the way he likes me."

"Have you told him about this?"

"I don't know how. I feel like . . . it would break his heart, and I don't want to do that."

"Do you feel like you two should just remain friends?"

"I think things would get too awkward if we did that."

I shrugged. "Well, you're gonna have to sit down and talk to him. I don't think he should be in the dark about this. If you guys want to have a successful relationship, hiding things from each other isn't the way to go. Trust me."

"How did you and Vasquez get to where you are now?"

"Being honest with each other. Understanding each other's faults and flaws and trying to help each other rather than avoid talking about them at every turn. I know things are a bit rough right now, but . . . I'm really trying to, as she told me yesterday, 'not let the crazies in my head tell me' that she doesn't love me. It's difficult, I know, but, in the end, it will make our relationship a bit stronger. That's all we've been doing the last four years. Love is not an easy thing to work with and it requires a lot of patience and willingness to listen to your partner. Besides, you passed flight school. If you can do that, you can make things work with Spunkmeyer."

Ferro nodded, looking at the floor before looking back up at me. "Thanks, Drake."

"No problem. My door is always open to you."

* * *

I've been trying to look at myself as an older brother figure to Ferro, rather than someone she had a crush on. Frankly, I've never asked Spunkmeyer his thoughts on that. On the outside, he seems like the kind of person who doesn't care Ferro and I remain friends, as long as we're not secretly making out in the armory. God only knows what he actually feels about it, but given that he's never expressed anger or resentment toward me (after all, I'm the only person, aside from probably Ranelli, who knows about the details of his nightmares when he was poisoned by the silver flower), I think he doesn't mind.

In other news, even though Hudson has been back on solid food for a few days after his injury, I've noticed a change; he's slimmed down a little. I found out from Wierzbowski that it's because of the temporary diet he's on to keep the stitches inside him from tearing. Look, I don't pay attention to what's on everyone else's trays during meals, and I don't know why Hudson didn't tell us. Not to mention, I think his fight with Miranda contributed through stress, because he didn't eat that much in the day following that argument. It wasn't a drastic change, but we didn't want it to become drastic.

My mind kinda wandered back to my thinking that this was a long streak of bad luck for everyone. I just hoped it didn't claim anyone else.

I was wrong. Late in the afternoon, Wierzbowski came into the lounge, looking pale and nervous. He gestured for me to follow him out into the hall, where he covered his face and took a breath. "I just got a call from Eliza. Earlier today, she . . . was dusting her apartment, and fell from a ladder . . . dislocated her right hip. She's . . . in the hospital right now. They put her hip back in place, but they're keeping her for observation."

"Are you gonna go see her?"

"Of course I am."

I patted his shoulder. "She'll be OK. Don't worry too much."

"That's the thing, though. She lives alone, so . . . I want to stay with her for a few days and help her out."

"Talk to Hicks about that, not me. I'm sure he'll let you take three-four days of leave. You deserve it."

"I hope so. He's been looking a little tired." Wierzbowski looked me in the eye before whispering, "I really hope this isn't a sign he's about to lose his mind."

"You and me both, buddy. Ask him, though. You haven't done a damn thing to upset him."

I hated seeing the big guy so distraught, so I went with him to get that pass from Hicks. Without much of a surprise, we found Hicks, Apone, and Hardy all in the same office. I swallowed, trying to work up the courage to speak. "Sirs, Wierzbowski just got word that his girlfriend's in the hospital with a dislocated hip. She's gonna be OK, but . . . he wants a pass to help her out for a few days."

Hicks looked at Apone, who said, "'Ski's got the cleanest disciplinary record out of any Marine I've ever served with. Give him a five-day pass."

"Five is too long," Hardy said. "Three should be enough."

It was paining me to see Wierzbowski's heart breaking. Tears rolled down his face as he looked down at the floor.

"Quit crying. At least you're getting something," Hicks said.

"Uncalled for, Hicks," Apone replied.

"This is the second time we've had a display of no composure in front of an officer!"

"And I said that was uncalled for. You're not showing any composure yourself by being an ass to your own men. Get the pass, sign it, give it to me so I can sign it, and then give it to 'Ski."

* * *

_Question: In another universe, would Drake and Ferro function well as a couple?_


	5. Chapter 5

Wierzbowski left that afternoon, and he told me before heading down to the Metro station that he hoped things would be a little better when he got back. I told him to have a good time and tell Eliza I hoped she felt better.

Hudson decided that he was going to try and fix things with Miranda, and disappeared after getting his pass from Apone. I ended up wandering around the base, and found Ferro and Spunkmeyer in the loading bay. I was about to approach them when I heard Ferro was doing what I suggested she do in regards to Spunkmeyer moving things too fast in their relationship.

". . . How come you didn't just tell me you weren't sure when I brought it up?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"I thought it'd hurt your feelings," Ferro replied. "Just . . . I think you're going too fast. We've only been dating two-three weeks-"

"And we've known each other for five years. How come you didn't think about this at all in five years?"

"Because we weren't dating! I didn't think it'd work!"

"And then you magically decided it would just because you saw Drake and Vasquez doing it?"

"You were the one who brought it up after I told you!"

"And I thought, that since you agreed to give it a shot, that you had been thinking about it for the last five years." Spunkmeyer shrugged. "Guess you didn't. Oh, but you did think about Drake before you found out he was already taken. How many fucking times did you pull me aside so you could talk to me about how you weren't sure how to talk to him and confess that you liked him? Quite a lot." He gave Ferro a hurt look. "That'd be a 'workplace relationship!' Somehow, somewheres down the line, you changed your mind about that, but, you didn't go to me, even though you knew I had feelings for you since flight training! No, you thought _Drake_ would be a better partner! After all I've done for you, you're perfectly willing to chuck it out the window? Why? W-What did I do to make all that invalid?"

"I thought we both agreed we weren't going to try _with each other._"

"All I remember is that you said you weren't interested in any romantic relationship. You changed your mind about something years ago, but . . . even though I've done a lot for you, and expressed interest in you, you decided I wasn't good enough for you. And you know what? That's fine. That's how everyone's treated me my whole life. I ain't good enough for anyone. Fine. Don't bother."

"That's not what I'm saying! You're going too fast. I'm not ready to be that intimate yet, that's all."

"And I told you, you had five fucking years to think about it. Why you didn't think about a relationship in general is beyond me. Obviously, I messed up somewhere, because you thought a relationship with Drake would be a good idea." Spunkmeyer turned around to walk away. "I'm done. I said my piece, I'm not bothering anymore."

Ferro stayed where she was, watching him leave. I walked up behind her, and she turned when she noticed my shadow appearing next to her. "What do you want?"

"Nothing. I . . . heard almost everything."

"Drake, why do you even care?"

"Because you're a friend and I'd like to help you out."

"Well, I don't know what you are to me anymore."

"It's not my fault Spunkmeyer's upset. Hey, nobody else knows as much as I do about what's really going on between you two. I don't want you trying to deal with this alone, so . . . let me try to help, OK?"

Ferro nodded.

"And, tell you what, how about I buy you an ice cream? Just to help you feel better."

"Wouldn't people think of that as a date?"

"No. I'm calling it 'one friend doing a small favor to help his other friend feel better because who the fuck doesn't like ice cream?'"

* * *

We had to order at the counter of a small parlor before sitting down with our desserts. I also grabbed a complimentary container of steaming hot fudge, and a tiny box of chopped peanuts, to put on the table between us.

Ferro was staring at her dish while I dumped several generous spoonfuls of hot fudge on my ice cream. She then looked at me. "Didn't I once tell you that you're the reason why I decided to go out with Spunkmeyer?"

"Yeah," I said, "because you realized that he's your person to lean on, like what I have with Vasquez. How come you didn't tell him that?"

"I don't know. It didn't come to mind." She rubbed her face. "Now what? He's not gonna listen if I try to talk to him again."

"You don't know that. He might be feeling like crap now. Give it time, you guys will talk again. Besides, you know what this is telling me?"

"What?"

"If I'm correct in saying that Spunkmeyer feels bad and wants to try again, that means you two love each other. You do have the capacity to fix this. Misunderstandings happen, and sitting down to fix them is how you're going to make your relationship better." I took a bite of my ice cream. "I have to ask, though, what were your feelings toward him over the last five years."

"Complicated, but I think that's something you understand."

"I wrote the book on complicated feelings."

She grinned. "Anyway, it . . . truthfully, I had harbored the notion of not having any kind of romantic relationship long before I met him. Before I was shipped out to boot camp, that's all we were told at the monthly meetings; you're not going in to make friends, especially not lovers. I understood why. It can be a distraction and you can't be distracted when you're on the job, because you could get people killed. Most of all . . . I was afraid of getting in trouble, because being sent home for such a dumb reason is shameful. I can't face my family if I get sent home because I was caught kissing Spunkmeyer in the armory or the pool or anywhere else."

"Is it true that feeling of fear started to deteriorate because of me?"

"No. I was fighting with that feeling ever since . . . we kissed right after our first flight simulation together. I just never told him, and I should have. Maybe we wouldn't be in this mess if I did."

"Well, you're in this mess now, so, gonna have to find a way to get out of it." The hot fudge had pretty much melted my ice cream, leaving a milkshake in the dish. I picked it up to drink from it.

Ferro's dessert was melting, and she wasn't touching it that much. I felt like she had more to say, and I looked at her, saying, "You gonna eat that? I did get that for you, and I'm not wasting my money."

"You did, and I shouldn't . . . make you waste your money." Ferro picked up her spoon. "I'm sorry, Drake."

"No, no, don't be sorry. It's really not about the ice cream. It's about getting you out of the base, and talking about stuff that you've bottled up for years."

She nodded a little. "Thanks, Drake." She added a little bit of the hot fudge to her dish. "What was I talking about? Oh, yeah, feelings for Spunkmeyer before I met you . . . As time passed, after we came to this unit, yeah, I was starting to become afraid of my own feelings. I didn't want to throw away my job and everything I've earned. The more I suppressed my feelings for Spunkmeyer, the worse it got. I've had dreams where . . . we do naughty things. I've had moments, during the day, where I just wanted to grab him and hold on tight. Yet, never once did I give in. I couldn't bring myself to. I was so afraid of what could happen if I got caught . . ." Ferro put her head in her hands. "I was tired of dealing with that."

"So, did you kinda cave in when you developed a crush on me?"

"Yeah. I actually thought Spunkmeyer didn't have the same feelings anymore." Ferro took a napkin, covering her eyes with it. "I know I was wrong, now, but I didn't then." Her face was slightly red, like she was about to cry.

"This is all stuff you should tell him. I think he'd understand. Plus, maybe his story's similar." I handed her another napkin. "Now do you feel somewhat better?"

Ferro nodded.

"That's good." I drank the last of my ice cream, scooping the hot fudge, which had solidified a little, into my mouth. "Hudson's gonna be jealous if he's not already getting pampered by his girlfriend."

"If they made up, he's probably getting pampered." That brought a tiny smile to Ferro's face. "I really do appreciate you doing this, Drake, thank you."

"No problem. If you ever wanna do this again, just let me know. I mean, is there anything else in the city you'd like to do that we'd be able to do and be back to base by curfew? I'll take you."

"I couldn't do that to you."

"It'd be my treat."

"I thought this was your treat."

"I can do more. I'm not a one-trick . . . smartgunner."

"I know, but I'm just worried you might start shutting down."

You know, my train of thought had been running very smoothly until she brought that up. It's not her fault. It's a valid concern. I thought for a moment, and sighed before saying, "I haven't felt any signs of shutting down yet, but . . . it could happen at any time, and yeah, I wouldn't want to let that ruin things for you." I gave her a sad look. "If . . . that means, we're just gonna go back to base, that's OK. I'll bring up our dishes and we'll head out."

* * *

As usual, my dreams weren't pleasant in the slightest. I was running through tight corridors, corridors that looked similar to the Gateway lab's. I looked over my shoulder to see a cloud of silver flower gas coming toward me.

I tripped, and the cloud engulfed me. I tried to scream, but it was quickly stifled. I was choking, thrashing, trying to cry for help.

"Wake up, man! Wake up!"

Silver fluid was pouring from my mouth. Someone's calling me . . .

"Drake, _wake up!_"

I jolted awake to see Hudson standing over me, looking panicked.

Gripping my shoulders, Hudson let out his breath. "Hey, you in there, man?"

It took me a little while to fully come back to reality. Eventually, I sat up, rubbing my face, and giving a heavy sigh. "Very bad dream, Hudson."

"I almost thought you actually choking, man. I heard something awful coming from your room and all I see is you twitching and making these hacking noises."

"Well, I wasn't actually choking, but I was certainly choking in my nightmare. And basically every nightmare before that one."

Hudson sat on the bed. "Want me to stay with you for a few minutes?"

"I don't know."

"I'll stay, then."

I glanced at the clock. It was half-past midnight. A God-awful time to be awake. "I thought you'd be staying with Miranda."

"I didn't get an overnight pass, man," Hudson yawned. "Had to be back by curfew."

"Did you guys make up?"

"Yeah. I apologized for not calling her sooner, and she apologized for overreacting. We just sat and cuddled till I had to leave. She noticed I lost weight, too."

"She's not gonna try and fatten you up, is she?" I smirked.

"No."

"Good. I think Hicks would go ballistic if you announced to everyone that you couldn't get your trousers on."

"Speaking of Hicks going ballistic, how was he all afternoon?"

"I was out with Ferro-"

"What?"

"Her and Spunkmeyer are having some . . . difficulties, so I took her out for ice cream. We talked, I helped her figure out a solution with Spunkmeyer. Everything's good."

"Oh, geez, I thought you were cheating on Vasquez."

"Hudson, you know me. I'd never cheat on her."

"How are things going between you two, anyway?"

"So far, so good. All of it is me, now. I'm the one who has to manage the crazies in my head and keep them from convincing me that . . . our relationship is going downhill."

Hudson nodded. "She's gotta do her part, too, you know."

"I don't know how to say that to her. I think she knows, but she doesn't know how to. I highly doubt Hardy will show her."

"Heard anything from Wierzbowski?"

"He called shortly after Ferro and I came back. Eliza is home and resting, and he's fussing over her like you wouldn't believe."

"That shocked the crap outta him, poor guy, I don't blame him for getting fussy, man." Hudson looked up at the ceiling, then at the clock. "You feeling better? I'm gonna go back to bed."

"Go ahead. I'll be fine."

In the morning, it definitely weird to not have Wierzbowski sitting next to me at breakfast. I glanced over at Ferro, who was picking at her food until Spunkmeyer approached the table. Usually, they sit together, but today, Spunkmeyer sat next to Hudson.

Ferro looked a little sad. I shrugged, and got up to sit next to her.

Hudson made a face when he put a spoon of yogurt in his mouth. "This is bitter as fuck, man! What happened? It wasn't like this yesterday morning."

"It's sugar-free, Hudson," Hicks replied, without looking in Hudson's direction.

Hudson looked extremely disappointed. He pushed his tray away.

"Eat your breakfast and quit complaining. That's an order." Hicks gave Hudson a dirty look.

"Jesus, man, can the food here get any worse?"

"I'm not doing this Goddamn dance with you again. I told you a couple months ago, you don't like the food, we can go tear up your contract and send you home. You really wanna tell people this is why you got kicked out of the Marines?" When Hicks didn't get a response, he shook his head. "I didn't think so. Shut your mouth and eat what we give you. Maybe if you weren't so fucking spoiled whenever you leave base, you wouldn't complain."

"Hicks, that's enough," Apone said. "You've been agitated way too much the last couple of days, and you need to go do something about it."

Hicks looked like he was about to cry. I think he only said this because Hardy wasn't around: "This wouldn't be happening right now if Paulson was still around."

A heavy blanket of silence fell over the table. After that, no one spoke, and when we finished our meals, we got up to go about our day.

Ferro followed Spunkmeyer down to the loading bay, with me close behind. She glanced over her shoulder at me, and paused. "What are you doing?"

"Don't worry. I'll hang back when you talk to him," I said.

"Fine."

"Good luck. Just tell him what you told me."

After giving me a nod, Ferro continued over to Spunkmeyer, who was spraying a mix of water and cleaning fluid from a hose onto the legs of his powerloader. He then grabbed a big paint-roller outfitted with a scrubber (held together with duct tape, mind you) and started running it up and down the loader. I could be mistaken, but I think I saw a rubber ducky floating in a nearby bucket.

"Spunkmeyer?" Ferro called.

"What?" Spunkmeyer replied. "I'm kinda busy here. Besides, I said yesterday day that I didn't wanna talk."

"I'm here to apologize. There's . . . a lot of things I should've said that I didn't. I think it'll clear things up between us."

Since she basically told Spunkmeyer the same thing she told me last night, I'm not going to bother jotting it all down again. I expected Spunkmeyer to look a little uncomfortable when Ferro told him that she's had dreams where they "do naughty things." Instead, he said, "You know, I've had similar dreams."

I really don't know if that was the best thing to say. I figured it was fine since they've known and trusted each other for a long time.

Spunkmeyer absentmindedly continued cleaning the powerloader as he thought, and then looked at Ferro. "So . . . you did have feelings for me, but you were so afraid of messing up and getting caught . . . that you refused to say anything."

"Pretty much."

"Well, if it makes you feel better . . . I kinda did the same with my feelings, but they didn't re-emerge till you told me about how Drake and Vasquez are doing the same thing and have been successful with their relationship. I dunno, you . . . you had the time to figure out what you want in a relationship. I didn't. I don't know what I want. I don't know why I do anything. I wasn't . . . a teenager long enough to make mistakes and learn from them. I didn't have anyone at home to teach me. All the sex ed I got was from the awkward and kinda creepy videos in health class."

Ferro laughed a little. "So, does this mean . . . we're going to give this another shot?"

"Having a romantic relationship? Yeah, why not? I promise, I won't . . . I won't ask about sleeping together-"

"I'm ready."

Spunkmeyer blushed. "A-Are you sure? I don't wanna make you feel like-"

"I'm ready. I don't want to be afraid of messing up anymore. Besides, we have an expert who can show us how to not get caught." Ferro looked in my direction.

"Drake? Really?"

"Would you rather ask _Hudson?_"

"No. Absolutely not. 'Discreet' is not in his vocabulary."

It took me a moment to realize what I just got myself into, but I told myself that this would be "practice" for when my son or daughter comes of age and is ready for "the talk."

* * *

Without getting into too much detail, I gave Spunkmeyer and Ferro my best advice for keeping their nighttime doings as discreet as possible. Afterwards, I took Spunkmeyer into my room to give him protection. "Look, this is the single most important piece you can have for whenever you and Ferro want to get busy. Without this, you're risking your health and your job, and hers. Now, serious question, Spunkmeyer, what's your size?"

Spunkmeyer was deep-red with embarrassment. "Well, I ain't your size, that's for sure. I'm probably . . . one size smaller."

"You're in luck. I bought a variety pack last month because it was cheap and I was tired of giving some of mine to Hudson, so he mooches off this one when he wants it, but, yeah, it's got a few different sizes, so, take some and go, buddy."

"I know you just talked to us about everything, but . . . I'm still nervous."

"I was nervous my first time. Just remember; trust your partner, if she tells you to stop, you stop, if you want to stop, then stop. This is not going to make or break your relationship, OK? Vasquez and I were dating for well over two-and-a-half years before 'doing it' for the first time, and we're fine." I shrugged. "I think you're gonna be fine. There's nothing to it."

Nodding, Spunkmeyer took a breath. "Thanks again, Drake, I owe you one."

"When are you getting us that New York pizza you keep yakking about? Maybe you should get around to that." I grinned at him as he left my room. "Oh, and here's something just as important as what I gave you: have fun." I winked.

* * *

_Question: How does Drake's interactions and relationship with Ferro show his growth as a character?_


	6. Chapter 6

I could really only hope that Ferro and Spunkmeyer followed my advice precisely. They don't have the experience Vasquez and I do, but, hey, with lots of practice, they'll be fine.

Not too long after I sent Spunkmeyer on his way, I started powering down for the night. I took a shower, and when I stepped out, I glanced at myself in the mirror, seeing the paling surgical scar just below my chest. It would be awhile before it became barely noticeable. For now, you didn't have to look hard; it's the first thing your eyes go to if you look at me undressed.

I went to bed fairly early, but I woke up around eleven to use the bathroom. The base was almost deathly silent-that's why I hate waking up at hours like this. A slight sense of relief came over me when I heard Hudson start snoring, because it was sound of some kind.

In the morning, I noticed Spunkmeyer looked really pleased with himself. He didn't offer up a single complaint or sarcastic comment during breakfast, and . . . I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Why're you smiling, Spunk?" Frost asked.

"No reason. Just feels like a really good day, that's all," Spunkmeyer replied.

Frost shrugged.

"Probably imagining what this applesauce tastes like with cinnamon and sugar, man," Hudson griped.

_I know exactly what he's thinking about, and it's not applesauce. _I resisted the urge to grin.

"I don't think Spunkmeyer daydreams about food the way you do, Hudson" Crowe said, without looking up from his tray.

"We're all guilty of that," I snorted.

Hicks entered the mess hall a minute later, setting his tray down in front of him, and glancing at each of us before sitting. He didn't look upset, so we all decided to keep silent. "Crowe, Hardy wants you to go with Vasquez today," Hicks said, his soft tone finally returning.

"Yes, sir," Crowe replied.

"Why?" Vasquez asked.

"He'll explain when he sees you two," Hicks answered.

As confused as I was over Hicks's turnaround, I figured it'd be best not to ask questions. It usually just leads to more confusion.

After breakfast, I approached Ferro as she headed to the base pool. "So, how'd it go?" I asked, smirking.

Ferro gave me a playful shove. "Why should I tell you?"

"Because I helped make this happen, and we're friends." I quickly ducked into my room to grab my swim trunks and towel, and jogged back over to her. "I'm not asking for explicit details. I just want to know how you and Spunkmeyer are doing."

Ferro disappeared into the ladies' locker room. "One minute, Drake."

After getting changed, we climbed into the shallow end of the pool. Ferro stood close to me to keep her voice down, hoping the chamber's echo wouldn't carry it everywhere.

"What did you do after your first time?" she asked.

I thought for a moment. "The day after, or right after?"

"Right after."

I shrugged. "Went to sleep. I was actually really hesitant on doing it again, but after doing it multiple times and knowing that Vasquez is going to be the only woman in the world I'm ever going to have sex with, I stopped evaluating myself. I told Spunkmeyer that this isn't something that's going to make or break your relationship. Is it the 'deepest' part of physical intimacy? Yeah, but you shouldn't feel like your relationship is never going to work if you're not that physically intimate. You should never judge your relationship based on other people's relationships. You shouldn't ever compare your relationship to other people's relationships. No two relationships are the same. What makes me and Vasquez happy might not make you and Spunkmeyer happy. That's just how life works."

Ferro nodded, looking out at the water before looking back at me. "I feel like this is a really dumb question, but-"

"There are no dumb questions."

"OK. Is . . . the first time always a little . . . awkward?"

"First off, define 'awkward.' Was this before, during, or immediately after?"

"Immediately after. I . . . wasn't sure what to feel. It wasn't like-" Ferro lowered her voice more, "in my dreams where it feels like this great, satisfying experience."

"How was Spunkmeyer?"

"Did you see his face this morning? That should tell you all you need to know. He enjoyed himself. He was kinda rough, but not . . . I dunno. Even though he was happy, he was also like, 'Now what?' I mean, we're not doing this to have a baby. It's like what you said, it's a deep form of physical intimacy, and . . ." Ferro rubbed her face. "I don't know how to explain anything."

"Yeah, the first time is always awkward. You two were both virgins until about twelve hours ago, so, that kinda piles on the awkwardness. Vasquez and I were the same, but it got less awkward as time went on. That's just us, though. I don't know how it'll be with you."

There was more silence, then Ferro looked at me. "Is it wrong that a part of me still wonders what it would be like with you instead of Spunkmeyer?"

"No, I don't think it's wrong. You liked me, at one point. Wondering 'what might have been' is normal. Hey, I wonder what might have happened if I never went to prison. Doesn't change the fact that I went to prison and joined the Marines and met a slightly dysfunctional group of people who I love so much. Hell, I won't love you the way I love Vasquez, but . . . you're like a sister. I didn't have the greatest biological family in the world, and, even though it's taken me two years, I . . . consider you and everyone else in this unit-even Dietrich-to be my real family. You know, when you need advice or help or a hug, don't be afraid to talk to me. I'm really trying to not be as closed-off as I was when I first got here."

Ferro gave me a genuine smile. "You're doing a good job, Drake. I don't know if a lot of people have told you that, but . . . you have changed, and for the better. You should be proud."

I actually smiled back. Something deep within my chest was glowing and lifting for the first time in God knows how long.

"Next to Spunkmeyer, I do consider you my best friend. And a very helpful big brother. I can't think of anyone else I could talk to about any of the stuff we've talked about."

Even though we were soaking wet (and in our bathing suits), we did share a hug. Ferro moved my bone necklace out of the way to rest her head on my chest. She did gently run her finger down the individual bones, and said, "I forgot, where'd you get this thing?"

"Annexer gave it to me. Some kind of symbol of determination. And there's the sand dollar I got from Hudson and Vasquez for Christmas, but that's it," I said.

"I've got a couple good-luck pieces I collected over the years. I think you'd get more use out of them than me. You can't touch my rabbit's foot, though."

I smirked. "I won't, I promise."

"Anything else, you can have, though."

"You sure? I wouldn't want to take something you suddenly develop sentimental attachment to."

"Then give it back. Not that hard."

"OK. Careful, I might get attached to it as well."

Ferro let go of the bones, then took a long look at the scar on my belly. "Didn't you say the silver pearls formed because you went into cryo while still recovering from the poison?"

"Yeah."

"They put Spunkmeyer into cryo to transport him to D.C. from Romania . . . do you think he's got them, too?"

"No. It wasn't long enough to let the poison 'settle.' Plus, he got the antidote soon afterwards. Not enough time for pearls to form. I wouldn't worry about him. He was significantly luckier than me or Hudson or Hicks. Now, Hicks and Hudson never went into cryo, so they don't have to worry about pearls. Hell, they're harmless unless they break. Easy operation, annoying recovery, though. So, yeah . . . I wouldn't worry."

The conversation ended there. Ferro began swimming down the length of the pool, and I followed shortly after. I had been in the pool a lot in the week after my operation because I couldn't do anything in the gym. I actually enjoyed it more than regular exercise. The feeling of weightlessness helped me relax a little, but . . . that was it. I enjoyed that feeling for a few minutes and then returned to being weighed down by my problems. It was nowhere near as helpful as taking care of Casey.

When we got out of the pool, I dropped my bag off in laundry, and headed to my bedroom to open my nightstand and take out the letter and photos Casey's parents had sent me. I sat on the bed, re-reading the letter several times, and staring at the photo for a few long minutes.

I still had the envelope with their return address. I stared at that for a moment before deciding I should write back. The only problem was that I had no idea what to say.

I lay in bed with a pad of paper we'd been given in boot camp to write our letters home on. Of course, I never used mine, so it sat in my duffel bag for the last two years. I stared at the blank paper for some time, unsure of what to write.

Someone knocked on the door, and I heard Hudson say, "Hey, Drake, everything OK in there, man? Been looking for you."

"Come in," I sighed.

Hudson entered the room, and closed the door behind him. "Where were you the last hour or so, man?"

"With Ferro. Her and Spunkmeyer are officially no longer virgins."

A goofy grin came across Hudson's face. "No wonder Spunkmeyer looked so happy this morning, man. Hey, I'm gonna go whisper my congratulations to him later. Let's see . . . wow, I think Wierzbowski, Dietrich, and Hicks-not sure 'bout Crowe-they're the last to lose it, man."

"Yeah, Dietrich is not happening. Wierzbowski . . . maybe. Hicks is also a maybe, but I doubt it." I sighed. "Speaking of Crowe-"

"I have no clue why Hardy wanted him, man. I mean, he works alongside Vasquez in combat, but that's it. They don't talk to each other."

"Crowe's quiet, too, but he's not . . . he's not closed, like Vasquez and I and Wierzbowski are."

"Maybe Hardy's trying to get them to improve their bond beyond the field, man."

I nodded. "I hope so."

"I wouldn't worry about Crowe, man. He's a good guy. He wouldn't try to hit on Vasquez."

"Alright, I trust you."

"Do you need a hug? You still seem anxious about this, man."

I didn't say anything, which prompted Hudson to sit next to me, and squeeze me.

"There's no need to be sad, man. This'll be over before you know it. Besides, you got all of us to help you when you need it, man." Hudson ruffled my hair, and looked at the notepad in my lap. "Who are you writing to?"

"Casey's family. I can't think of anything to say."

"Well, when you do figure something out, can you include, 'Hudson says 'hello?'"

* * *

As you probably guessed, I didn't come up with anything to write to Casey and his family. Frustrated, I decided to just put the notepad down and do something else.

Frost caught me near the armory, and asked if I wanted to go out to the exercise yard and play volleyball. Given that I had nothing better to do, I accepted, and changed into my PT shorts (plus added another layer of deodorant) before going out to join everyone.

There wasn't a cloud in the sky when I stepped out into the yard, and the sun was beating down on us. It felt nice, if you want me to be honest with you . . . well, nice until you start moving around.

"I call Drake, man!" Hudson chirped. So far, it looked like it was him and Spunkmeyer against Frost and Ferro.

"I'm the one who invited him out here," Frost replied.

"Why dontcha let him decide?"

"If we lose, you have to buy me a drink," I said to Hudson, "and I'll eat a sundae in front of you, while you get nothing. If we win, I'll buy your drinks and your sundae."

Hudson thought about that for a moment.

Spunkmeyer gave an exasperated sigh. "We're already a guaranteed loss with Hudson as team captain. We may as well have somebody good on our team. Get your ass over here, Drake."

"Too bad 'Ski isn't here. Then we'd have an even number of people on both sides," Frost said.

"We have Hudson, so, there is an even number of people on both sides."

"I'm not that bad, man," Hudson mumbled.

"Prove it," I said, picking up the ball to serve it.

The game went OK until it was Hudson's turn to serve the ball. He ran backwards, thinking he was going to send the ball flying. Instead, the ball barely made it to the net, and that really pissed off Spunkmeyer.

"I could _fart_ the ball over the net better than you can serve it!" he shouted.

"I wanna see you try!" Frost laughed.

Hudson was red with embarrassment. He sighed before attempting to serve again, and this time, he made it.

Aside from that, nothing overly interesting happened while we were playing. When we had to break for lunch, I noticed Crowe and Vasquez were already at the table. Crowe was explaining something about field maneuvers to Vasquez, and she looked like she was actually listening.

I looked at their trays to see what we were getting for lunch. My stomach had been growling when we were outside, but it stopped upon seeing the blob of what I think was tomato paste, beans, and bacon bits. Oh, and a piece of bread. That's it.

I could easily have requested a pass to go out into the city to get some real food, but Hardy was at the table with us, and I didn't need him making anymore snap judgements about me. I sat down with a tray of crap and forced myself to eat.

There was something really spicy in that blob, that's for sure. I think the cooks gave up and dumped a couple bottles of hot sauce into the bowl and figured that was good enough. I was going to be in the bathroom all night. That's fucking awesome.

Hudson was making faces the whole time he ate, but he didn't say a word. In fact, I think he was speechless.

"I've had better food at restaurants that failed their health inspections," Spunkmeyer muttered.

Ferro elbowed him to tell him to shut up.

Hardy wasn't paying any attention to us. He was talking with Hicks and Apone about Vasquez's progress. The whole time, I noticed Hicks was really trying to hold himself together.

The fact that this new program was in direct relation to what Paulson had set up years ago was what was doing him in. Hicks couldn't stand being bombarded by these memories and references anymore.

Having broken down myself, knowing what it's like to have your mind quit and let your emotions run wild, I felt awful seeing Hicks's struggling. He wasn't angry at anyone, but he was missing his mentor, his friend. The pain of just missing someone was tearing him apart on the inside.

I knew Hicks exploding on Hardy would be embarrassing, but he couldn't hold this down forever. I had to lance that abscess, let it drain, so I moved over to where Wierzbowski usually sits, and I put my hand on his shoulder.

He started to cry. Apone looked over, appearing as though he had been expecting this to happen. Hardy looked, at first, confused, and then sympathetic. The whole table was watching.

There was no sign aside from Hicks's sobbing. At one point, I helped him stand and brought him out to the hall so he could continue in private, and I really tried to console him. Of course, he had to listen to me first, but he did stop crying long enough to say something.

"I know this is something he would've wanted. I know he would've to put you in, regardless. He would've done something for you. He would've wanted you as prepared as you could be for civilian life."

I let go of Hicks's shoulders. "You mean, me, specifically?"

"You specifically, Drake. I know you don't want this now, but, dear God, he would've found something to help you. I'm doing the best I can."

Another layer was pulled back. Hicks felt like helping me was a way to honor his mentor. And he felt like he was failing.

I gripped his shoulders again. "You made the right choice with having Ranelli help me."

In Hicks's eyes, I could see his composure returning. He wasn't burying anything. I think he needed to hear this from me.

"People have been telling me that they notice a change in me since I've joined the unit. I don't think that would've happened if you didn't . . . do anything. Even just trying to talk to me about what's wrong back when we were in Australia. That was a step in the right direction."

Hicks nodded a little bit.

"Every little thing you've done has been slowly pushing me in the right direction. I promise, you're not letting Paulson down. _I promise_."

Hicks's face relaxed. One last tear dripped down his cheek, and he nodded again. I think he wanted to say something, but couldn't think of what. He took a breath, and dried his face with his shirt. "Whatever Hardy's said, just . . . just know that I'm proud of you. He hasn't gotten the chance to see you in action, and that's not his fault. I've seen you in action. I can't believe you've come this far." He squeezed my shoulder. "Keep going, OK?"

* * *

_Question: Should Hicks take the majority of credit for Drake's growth?_


	7. Chapter 7

As the day dwindled down, my thoughts came back around to writing back to Casey. I sat in my room, with the notepad, and decided that something-anything-would be better than nothing. I know he misses me, and I don't want him to feel like he's lost me again.

"_Casey, Mr. and Mrs. Renning, I'd first like to thank you for the letter and photos. I greatly appreciated it, and will hang onto both for a long time.  
_

"_Without a doubt, I miss you, too, Casey. You did brighten everyone's day when you were with us on base. You became a little brother to each of us, and especially me. I definitely think there's a Marine in you. More importantly, I think there's a good smartgunner in you. Until you come of age to make that decision, though, just focus on being a kid. That time doesn't last long. Enjoy the new Marine toys I got you.  
_

"_Oh, and Hudson told me to tell you that he says, 'hello.' Yours, Drake._"

My God, this thing was so short and I didn't like that. Still, there were a lot of things I wanted to say to Casey that, while he would understand, his parents wouldn't. Sighing, I folded the letter up, and slid it into an envelope before heading down to the base's mail room to drop it off.

As I left the mail room, I heard Wierzbowski's voice in the hallway. "Hello, anybody home?!"

I walked over to greet him, shaking his hand before giving him a quick squeeze. "Hey, good to have you back."

"Thanks, Drake." Wierzbowski adjusted the straps on his duffel bag before heading to his bedroom.

"How's Eliza?"

"In good spirits," Wierzbowski replied. "I brought her home from the hospital, and . . . fussed, and fussed, and fussed for the last three days."

"You didn't annoy her, did you?"

"No. I knew when to back off. Mainly, I'm glad we got to spend a lot of time together."

"You realize the guys are going to ask if you slept with her."

"Well, honest-to-God's truth is that . . . I did last night."

"No. Shut up."

"Just sleeping, though."

"OK, that I believe, but . . . you badass!" I laughed, giving Wierzbowski a playful nudge. "Man, Spunkmeyer lost his virginity and now you finally spent a night with your girlfriend. We're making some progress here."

"Wait, Spunkmeyer did what?"

I leaned in to whisper, "Spunkmeyer and Ferro did a lot more than just cuddle last night."

"Oh." Wierzbowski shrugged. "Alright."

"You're not impressed?"

"No." Wierzbowski opened his duffel bag, separating his clean and dirty laundry. "How are you and Vasquez doing?"

"She's been busy. This morning, Hardy asked for Crowe to be with her during their session."

"He is her assigned combat partner. I'm not at all surprised Hardy did that. I think they'd function better if they . . . got to know each other. After all, you and I work somewhat flawlessly."

"I wouldn't say 'flawlessly,'" I said. "We've had disagreements on the field before."

"That's why I said 'somewhat.'"

"Anyway, I absolutely one hundred percent trust Crowe on the field. I've seen him in action and I have absolutely no problems with him in combat, but we've never spoken to each other personally."

"He's very nice, if you sit down and talk to him. He and Hudson got along well when Hudson first joined."

I nodded. "That's all you know?"

"Well, no, he did have a rough patch in life right before he enlisted-actually, I think it's why he enlisted. His father was badly hurt in a car wreck-crippled him permanently-and their relationship took a downward spiral. From what I know, Crowe learned the majority of his mechanical skills from his father, and they collaborated on a wide variety of projects for years. After this car wreck, that . . . changed. I guess his father had become depressed he couldn't work anymore, but Crowe still could, and he started lashing out at him. Not physically violent or anything like that, but he . . . started trying to tear Crowe down to his level. I think it was about six months of Crowe trying to get him to see things differently, but after getting no progress, he enlisted. Figured it'd be best to leave."

Overall, it sounded like Crowe was an example of someone who pulled himself out of a bad situation and wasn't completely suffering because of it. A pang of jealousy began squirming in my gut. "Alright."

"If you're worried about how he treats Vasquez, you really have nothing to worry about. Please, don't give him a hard time, Drake, he doesn't deserve it."

"I won't, I won't."

* * *

I managed to find Crowe in the loading bay, getting harangued by Spunkmeyer. Crowe was on a ladder against the powerloader, fixing something (I couldn't tell what, nor would I understand), and Spunkmeyer was . . . well, I'll let him explain this one.

"It was working fine this morning! I dunno what happened! All of a sudden, I'm having a hard time getting the right arm to move up and down."

"Did you lubricate everything?" Crowe asked.

"I lubricate everything. What, you think I can't take care of her? It's my fault something's broken?"

"Spunkmeyer-" Crowe started calmly, "I never said that. Just . . . calm down. Stuff happens, and I don't think it's your fault."

"'Calm down'. I can't calm down. Something's wrong. They're gonna take her away to a _shop_. Probably never bring her back for six months."

Crowe spotted me from the corner of his eye. "Hey, Drake, can you take Spunkmeyer away or something so I can figure out what's going on with his powerloader?"

"Sure. I came to talk to you, actually," I said.

Crowe gave me a slightly confused look. "Is something wrong?"

"Uh . . . no."

"Well, I'm kinda busy here. Give me an hour or so, and I'll get to you as soon as possible." Crowe turned back to his work, frowning before yanking something out from the right arm joint of the powerloader. A partly crushed can.

Spunkmeyer was almost in shock. "Motherfucker. Who did this?!"

"Likely Frost and Hudson looking to get a rise out of you. They must be incredibly bored to do something as childish and stupid as this. At least the can was empty. If it had stuff in it, the whole joint would've been damaged-" Crowe gave Spunkmeyer a look, "and then we'd have to take it into a shop."

Spunkmeyer moaned, covering his face. He seemed pretty relieved that he didn't have to send his precious powerloader to a repair shop, but he was also pissed that he could have . . . and he was pissed that Frost and Hudson would do such a thing to his mechanical baby.

Crowe climbed down the ladder to toss the can in a garbage bag, and took off his gloves before approaching Spunkmeyer. "Your powerloader is fine. Some rest and a little extra oil should be enough." He said this like a doctor would to a concerned relative of a patient, and I tried not to laugh.

Spunkmeyer didn't respond, and stormed away. With a slight grin on his face, Crowe turned to me. "Now that's over, what do you need, Drake?"

I waited until Spunkmeyer was out of earshot. "I just wanted to talk to you, man-to-man. Simply because . . . we really haven't spoken like this in the two years I've been here."

Crowe nodded. "Alright, well, perhaps we should take this to a pub or something. Only because it's odd to have this kind of conversation in the middle of the loading bay." He grinned. "I'll go get a pass."

Within the hour, the two of us had ventured into D.C. and were sitting across from each other at a small table in a bar. Crowe didn't strike me as a hard drinker, so I kinda held back on the whiskey.

"This doesn't have to do with Vasquez, does it?" Crowe asked.

My mind scrambled to think of a good answer. "Uh . . . yes and no. Yes, because . . . I want to . . . give some pointers on how to talk to her, because, you know, she finds it difficult to trust people off the field, and I . . . just wanted to make sure everything would go smoothly with you."

"OK." Crowe gave me a suspicious look, almost like he knew there was something going on between me and Vasquez. "I do appreciate your concern for your friend, but, if you don't mind . . . I think I can figure out how to talk to her."

I nodded. "Alright, alright. I will not bring it up again." I picked up my glass to drink, and realized I forgot to add ice. "Shit, that's warm." I spit it back in the glass.

"You can drink it warm, Drake," Crowe replied.

"I like it with ice in the summer."

"Suit yourself."

After ordering some ice, I jumped when I heard someone knocking on the window right next to us. I turned and saw Hudson's goofy face looking down at us. "Hey, man!" he called.

_Aw, crap._ I glared at him. "What do you want?"

"Can I join you?"

"Why?"

"Why not, man? I'll be right in."

I looked at Crowe. "I'm so, so sorry in advance."

"It's . . . fine," Crowe said. "He was probably going to barge in regardless if you said 'no' or not."

Hudson strolled into the bar, and grabbed a chair before plopping down with us. "So, what's going on, man?"

"We were having a private conversation until you came along," I said.

"Oh. You guys can trust me. Hang on, I'm gonna go get a drink." Hudson stood up and jogged over to the bar.

I sighed. "Anyway, like I said earlier, this is more about . . . we've known each other for two years, but at the same time, we haven't. I figured we should actually try and get to know each other."

"Alright. The others have told me quite a bit about you, but, I'm pretty sure there's more to you than your post-traumatic stress and your occasional foul-temperedness."

Hudson returned, with a mug of beer and three baskets of chicken wings. I gave him a look before saying, "You're not eating all that."

"Oh, only one of 'em's for me, man. The other two are for you guys." Hudson placed the baskets in front of me and Crowe, before digging into his.

"It's moments like this where we pause to wonder what's bigger, his heart or his stomach?" Crowe said.

"Well, we know they're both bigger than his brain," I snorted.

"Hey, I paid for this outta my own pocket, man," Hudson said to me. "You owe me five dollars and ninety-nine cents. And don't forget, I did pay you back for all the shampoo and body wash you bought for me, so now _you_ are in _my_ debt." He finished by blowing a wet raspberry at me.

"Yeah-" I pulled out my wallet, and took out a five, three quarters, two dimes, and four pennies, before sliding them in front of Hudson, "Debt paid. Off my shoulders forever. You took more than three months to pay yours. And you had the money long before you actually paid me."

"This was taken care of _seven months ago_, man!"

"I am just messing with you, now shut up and eat your chicken wings."

Hudson gave me a playful nudge.

A part of me felt bad we were goofing off in front off in front of Crowe, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he asked, "Is it just Drake you've owed money to, Hudson? I think I remember you owed a lot to Frost years ago after a bet in Japan."

"I don't want to think about that, man," Hudson said, his tone suddenly shifting. "We agreed I owe nothing. My embarrassment was enough."

I glanced at him. "What did you do?"

"Nothing I want to talk about, man, don't bring it up ever again." Hudson hunched in on himself, keeping his focus on his food and drink. He was quiet for a few minutes before saying, "It was stupid. I'm never doing it again. Shoulda never done it in the first place."

"OK. You don't have to talk about it anymore."

"I'm sure you've done embarrassing things in your life, Drake," Crowe said. "We all have."

"Yeah. I _am_ an embarrassing thing. I embarrass everyone I come across. I embarrassed my family-"

"Settle down, there, buddy," Hudson interrupted. "Talk to me, man. That wasn't necessary. We love you. You're not embarrassing to us."

It's worth noting that the whole time I was out with Crowe, my mind was trying to fight off the anxiety that usually came with being out in public. I could feel it breaking down my defenses and flying into the depths of my brain, sending everything I didn't want to deal with right now all the way to the surface. Building a relationship with Crowe was no longer at the forefront of my mind; panicking and beating myself up was.

I couldn't take it anymore. "Excuse me." I stood up, making a beeline for the restroom. My only problem? The restroom was full, and when I walked in, a couple guys were staring at me, which made me feel like collapsing inside.

So I went for the door. I left the bar, stepping into the comfortably warm night air, and heading into the alley separating the bar from the bakery next door. I sat next to a dumpster, hoping it concealed me from anyone happening to look down the alley, and broke. I hugged my knees, resting my head on them as I sobbed.

This was definitely embarrassing, and that thought made me feel worse. My chest ached the whole time I was out there, and I knew I was letting it consume me.

Crowe walked up to me at some point, not that long after I fled the bar. He knelt in front of me, saying, "What's wrong, Drake?"

I felt like Crowe had just caught me naked. I covered my face, completely unsure of how to explain this to him. The only thing I was sure about was that people had told him about my breakdowns in the past. Here he was, witnessing it firsthand.

"You're not an embarrassment, Drake, if that's what's bothering you. You're not doing yourself any favors by sitting out here by yourself, alright? Come back inside."

I wanted to force myself to just get up and go back in, but something was holding me back. Crowe stayed with me until Hudson came outside. "Is he OK, man?" Hudson asked.

"I have no idea. He won't say anything."

Hudson got in front of me. "He's shut down, man. Give him time. Nothing we haven't handled before." He sat closer to me, whispering, "Hey, man, I dunno if you're in there, but if you can hear me, you're not an embarrassment, man. I'm always happy to be around you, and I think the rest of the guys are, too. We all have faith in you, man. You can pull yourself outta this."

It took me a little more time before everything sank back to the darkest recesses of my mind. When I started to feel better, I held out my hand so Hudson could help me up. Gladly, he took it, pulling me up and into a hug. He patted my back before letting me go. "You're OK, man."

I don't fully remember if Crowe said anything regarding this, and frankly, I don't care.

* * *

You know how I said that glob of mismatched ingredients for lunch would keep me up all night in the bathroom? Well, I wasn't wrong, and I'm just glad we're in a base where we each have our own bathrooms, because I'd be a lot more pissy if I had to keep getting up to go down the hall and back again, every ten minutes.

I also just don't like waking up in the middle of the night in general. It's dark, it's dead silent. I hate it. It reminds me too much of my nightmares. That's why I wish I had a radio or something, just for noise.

Personal radios are pretty much illegal on base, especially bases like these. If you get caught with one, you might get the brig for a week, but that's after the thing gets checked for spy equipment. If you're caught with a hacked radio, that's a court marshal, which means you might get sent to a military prison. In peacetime. In wartime, you'll get shot.

Regular radios with no tinkering are such a common incident that most base officers don't give much of a shit anymore. A guy like Hudson can easily run a scan over it and determine whether or not the radio has listening chips or drives or anything else that would make people suspicious. They don't even bother with the brig anymore; they just send the damn thing home. I mean, with me, that'd be a challenge, because I don't have a home.

Well . . . I kinda do, now. That big house Doctor Hornby left for me in his will. Could send the radio there, if it gets caught. It'll be sitting in a package on the doorstep for four years, and be exposed to rain and snow and wind. Wouldn't even be worth it when I get the chance to see it again, because it'd be either destroyed or stolen.

It's just not worth my time.

I wasn't the only one using the toilet at an ungodly hour; as I made my way back to bed after feeling like I was going to shit my guts out, I heard Hudson yawning next door. The walls between rooms are really thin, so I could hear everything, and the dead silence sure doesn't help anyone's privacy. Hudson gave a relieved sigh as he took a long piss. "I don't remember having that much beer, man," he muttered.

I rapped on the wall with one knuckle. "You only had one, right?" I whispered.

"What're you doing up, Drake?"

"The fucking pile of crap we had for lunch."

"Oh. Want me to come over and keep you company?"

"No."

"Want me to stay here and talk to you?"

"I'm probably gonna have to go again in a few minutes."

"I'm coming over, man." Five minutes later, Hudson entered my room without even knocking, and closed it behind him. "You got the Hershey squirts, man?"

"I'm not discussing that with you."

"You stayed up with me when I had the flu, man."

"That was one of the worst nights of my life." I rubbed my face. "Not as bad as some of my nights in prison, but still bad."

Hudson sat on the bed. "I don't think you've ever told anyone any details 'bout when you were in prison, man."

"Because I don't want to."

"OK." Hudson was quiet for a moment. "Hey, I'm really sorry Crowe wasn't a bit more patient with you, man."

"That's fine. Not like he was mean about it."

"I know, but I did tell him before going after you that . . . you might not be responsive."

"Honestly, it's fine. I . . . wasn't expecting Crowe and I to develop the same bond I have with you and Wierzbowski."

"You're on good terms with him. He didn't say anything bad about you when we got back from the bar. I mean, everything was going good until your brain decided to quit, and that ain't your fault, man."

We both jumped a little when we heard someone knock on the door, followed by Hardy's voice saying, "What on Earth are you doing in Drake's room, Hudson?"

* * *

_Question: How should Drake build up resilience to being out in public for long periods of time?_


	8. Chapter 8

If it were Hicks or Apone at the door, Hudson would've been giggling like a third-grade girl and whispering to me to keep quiet. It was not Hicks or Apone at the door, though, so Hudson nervously tucked his undershirt into his shorts before getting up and answering the door for the colonel. "Yes, sir?" he said, anxiously.

"Private, it is past midnight, and you're not in your own quarters. What are you doing?" Hardy asked, calmly.

"Talking to a friend."

"Oh, so, you think this is a big slumber party?"

"N-No-"

"You're treading on very thin ice, Private. I may have found you charming last summer, but I did tell you to clean up your act, did I not?"

Hudson gulped.

"You're coming incredibly close to getting transferred to another unit."

Much to my surprise, Hudson didn't say a word. He walked out of the room with his head down, then Hardy left, closing the door as he went.

* * *

I planned on talking to Hicks in the morning. I wound up losing a lot more sleep over the idea of Hudson being transferred than with my upset stomach (and that's difficult to top).

I was too late, though; when I entered the mess hall, I found Hicks already in a conversation with Hardy about (you guessed it) Hudson. Normally, Hicks is calm and somewhat meek when talking to an officer. Today, he wasn't. Now, he wasn't screaming or cussing Hardy out; he was firmer, and a bit defensive, yet respectful.

"Sir, I've worked with Hudson for four years. Is he a little nutty at times? Absolutely, I'm not denying that. Is he a bad Marine? No. I have every mission report from when I first came here-"

Hardy held up a finger, signaling for Hicks to stop talking. "I have read every mission report from before you were assigned to this unit. My point is, Hudson has shown considerably poor discipline in front of officers. Not just with me. He's done it to Russell as well. He's done it to-"

"With all due respect, sir, I've worked with shitty discipline. That's what my previous unit was like. Hudson is an angel compared to my previous unit."

Hardy nodded. "Perhaps your thoughts might change if I gave you a little something." He dropped a manila folder on the table. "Paulson's reports on Hudson from 2170. Hicks, I'm saying this because Hudson is long overdue for a promotion. He's your combat technician, and he's not even a PFC. You have a couple of options. Send Hudson to Virginia for a six-week course, or send him to another unit with stricter structure."

Hicks looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. With brass knuckles. He swallowed before saying, "I need to think about this."

"You have three days to either make a decision, or change my mind." Hardy walked out of the room, not giving me a second glance as he passed by me.

Hicks sank down to the bench. It's only been an hour since he woke up, yet he looked exhausted.

I filled a bowl with constipation cereal (although, after last night, I'm hoping the excess fiber won't be an issue) before sitting next to Hicks, who sighed and rubbed his face. "What the hell were you two doing up anyway? If you didn't get caught, this wouldn't be happening."

"Well, I was constantly getting up because that shit we had for lunch was-"

"Spare me the details, Drake."

"OK. Just . . . we happened to be up at the same time. I wasn't feeling good, so Hudson decided to keep me company."

"Right." Hicks sighed again. "I'm . . . I-I don't know what to do, now. You two are making this visit from Hardy a lot more stressful than it needs to be. First, you explode over Hardy telling you that you're not eligible for this program of his. Then Hudson blows up on him. Then he catches you two up and chitchatting at fucking midnight of all hours. And you know what? I get in trouble, too, because I'm the one who's supposed to be keeping you in line. Look, when we don't have company, I don't care if you wanna talk to each other all night, because I get it; you're dealing with PTSD and sleep doesn't always come easily for you. This was not a PTSD-related incident. This was you two fucking around, and I'm not dealing with that while Hardy is here, is that clear?"

I nodded. There was silence for a couple minutes before I decided to say, "I don't want Hudson getting transferred."

"I don't want him getting transferred, either. I will work my ass off to keep him here, but . . ." Hicks gave me a stern look, "if I can't do anything and Hudson has to go down to Virginia for that course, you are not to say a word to Hardy, do you understand?"

Again, I nodded. "What am I gonna do, though, if Hudson goes?"

"It's only for six weeks, Drake. He will come back."

I didn't think I'd be able to handle Hudson being gone for six weeks. It was turning my stomach just thinking about it.

* * *

I know there was a point where Apone said he didn't want this unit getting split apart, not unless one of us requested a transfer or an officer ordered it, so I was hurt when I didn't hear him put up some kind of respectful argument with Hardy about Hudson getting transferred or sent to a training class.

Word got around about it, but we kept our thoughts to ourselves. I think most of us were thinking Hardy was in a foul mood and wouldn't bring it up ever again, but Hudson wound up dropping a bomb on us when he said it was true that he was years overdue for a promotion, and that he was the one fucking up his shot at it.

I had expected Hicks to shut down in regards to reading old reports from his mentor about Hudson. Hudson hadn't been in the Marines for very long when Paulson died, but there had been a couple instances where someone brought Hudson to the general's attention.

Hudson was a slightly different person when he was a fresh Marine, so it didn't surprise me that a few of the reports consisted of disciplinary incidents. One of them, in fact, revealed what happened in Japan, the bet with Frost that Hudson refuses to talk about. To summarize, Hudson had stripped in a bar, in front of his unit, and in front of civilians, and was arrested by MPs. He spent three weeks in the brig and forfeited two months' worth of pay. Paulson commented that what happened was unacceptable and felt that the punishment should have been harsher. A few papers down the line, I came across some handwritten memos to then-Colonel Russell. Paulson stated that he wouldn't be considering Hudson for promotion to private first class that year, due to "repeated minor incidents."

The memo was dated December thirteenth, 2170. Roughly ten days before Paulson committed suicide.

My mind saw the date, and I found myself in prison again. I had been incarcerated for about a year-and-a-half in December of 2170. I was about to spend my second Christmas in jail.

Birthdays and holidays are just like any other days in juvie. I had spent a lot of time alone in those first couple years, before I met Vasquez. There were a few places around the facility where you could hide out until someone came over the PA system to tell everyone to go back to their cells or into the cafeteria. Figuring out places to hide was important if you wanted to survive.

The nuts tend to single out loners and people who look odd to them, but given that the only thing nuts think about is beating people up, they're not too smart. There were a lot of nooks and crannies in certain buildings where you could easily hide yourself, and no one would notice. I had made myself a "nest" inside the dilapidated walls of a motor pool that had been abandoned. The guards do watch over that thing, but if someone fails to notify the next person about their shift, people take advantage of that space in time and drag in some poor guy to beat the crap outta them and leave them for the next guard to find.

I was much thinner back then, so I had an easy time squeezing into spaces to get past the guards. I'm not sure what was in that wall-space before, probably pipes and electrical equipment, but it was perfect for me to just sit. We had been issued heavy jeans and olive shirts, with our numbers stitched on them, and given long, pale-gray jackets. I would sit in my "nest" (which I had stocked with unwanted sweaters, books, and candy) for hours. The only other person who knew about it was Vasquez.

"Drake, I need those back."

I emerged from my thoughts and turned to see Hicks standing next to me. I slid the folder to him, saying, "Sorry. Started thinking about . . . stuff."

"That's OK. Anything you wanna talk about?"

"No."

"You sure?"

I nodded. "Just . . . Paulson's last memo . . . I saw the date and remembered, 'hey, I was in prison, then.'" I sighed. "Got lost in my memories, that's all."

"I understand." Hicks picked up the folder. "I don't know what Hardy had to gain by telling me Paulson had reports on Hudson. I'm not surprised he did."

"Tried to push you into getting Hudson to take that course by saying it's what Paulson wanted?"

"Probably. It's kind of shitty. Plus . . . Paulson's gone, and something like this is Russell's call. Whatever Paulson wanted in 2170 isn't valid anymore." Hicks looked down at the folder. "I guess, after he died, certain things weren't taken care of. That could be one reason why Hudson never got his promotion. It's paperwork. It gets lost. It happens. Hudson never cared enough to call and ask about it."

"Yeah. He's not a lifer, like you."

"Progression in rank is natural, though, whether you're a lifer or not." Hicks glanced out into the hallway. "I'm going to go talk to Hardy. You, relax. Don't worry about anything."

"Sure. Whatever you say, Hicks." I shoved my hands in my pockets before leaving his room, headed for the lounge. Before I entered the lounge, Ferro was leaving. She looked up at me.

"Hey, everything OK?" she asked.

I nodded. "Why do you ask?"

"I heard about . . . what might happen with Hudson."

"Hicks told me not to worry about it."

Ferro glanced down at the floor, then returned her gaze to me. "Do you wanna talk?"

I took a breath, pent-up thoughts and feelings beginning to swell in my chest. "Yeah."

We went to Ferro's bedroom in order to talk privately. Almost as soon as the door closed, I felt tears threatening to run down my face. "I don't know what I'd do if Hudson has to go. Even if it's just for six weeks, it's still six weeks without him."

Ferro sat next to me, holding a tissue box. "You still have me and Spunkmeyer and Wierzbowski, and Vasquez."

"I know, but . . . I'd be reacting the same way if any of you left. Having a group of friends doesn't take away the fact that it'll really hurt if one of you leaves. I don't want to deal with it. I can't. I'm not ready."

Ferro handed me a tissue before hugging me. "It's something everyone's gonna have to deal with at some point in life. Hell, you don't even know if Hudson's going to be sent away."

I tried to put my thoughts together. "I'm . . . aware, but . . . I guess what's bothering me is that everything I'm saying is . . . selfish. I'm more concerned about me than I am about Hudson's advancement."

"Drake, I think Hudson is concerned about you, too. You know him. He does put you first, because you're his brother, and he loves you."

A slight sense of relief came over me. "Did he tell you that?"

"I've seen you and him together. He values you a lot. More than you think he does."

Now I wasn't sure what to feel. Most people probably would've told me I was selfish and I should put Hudson's promotion and success over me. Here was Ferro looking at it from a different light, and she valued her career advancement more than anyone. "Thanks, Ferro."

"You're welcome. I promise, if something happens and Hudson leaves, we're all gonna be here for you."

* * *

My evening plans consisted of talking to Hudson, and then meeting Vasquez in her room because she said she wanted to talk. Truthfully, I was excited, because we haven't slept together in over a week and I was ready to get some lovin' tonight.

Hudson was in his bedroom, sloppily putting away his clean laundry. He looked at me from the corner of his eye, and didn't smile. "Hey, man."

"Hey," I replied. "Can we talk?"

"Is this about what happened last night and the shit about me getting transferred or sent to a training class?"

"Yeah . . ."

Hudson sighed, throwing down one of his T-shirts. "It's you, so . . . fine."

"You're not upset that . . . I don't look like I care about your advancement, are you?"

"No. I don't really care, either, man. I mean, I wish I did. A promotion might earn me more respect, but . . . I don't know why I don't care."

"You feel like you haven't earned it?"

"I know I haven't earned it! Doesn't matter that it's overdue, I haven't earned it! Every officer in this region says so!"

"You'd earn it before I ever would."

"You haven't made the fuckups I have, man."

"No, but you've shown you're a capable Marine."

Hudson was quiet for a moment, putting the last of his clothes in a drawer and forcing it shut. "I don't want to get transferred, man. I'd rather do the six-week course. At least then I'd be coming back to you guys." His cheeks flushed, like he was about to cry. "I don't wanna do either, but what . . . what choice am I gonna have?"

"You'd have to get really lucky pulling something out of your ass to make Hardy leave you alone."

Hudson shook his head. "I think this is it, man. I'm not gonna impress him." He took a breath. "What'd he tell Hicks? Three days, or else he's making a decision for us?"

I got the impression that Hudson was dancing around talking about his thoughts regarding me. Like with Hicks, I felt like I was going to drain that infection for him before it got worse. "If you have the chance to get promoted, what's holding you back from going for it?"

The waterworks came on with full force. "Looking after you, man. I don't wanna . . . not be there when you need somebody. I've already fucked up once with Hicks, I can't do it with anybody else."

"I'd be fine."

Hudson's cheeks were red and wet with tears. Sighing, I put my arms around him, and was abruptly squeezed, tight enough to send my breath rushing from my lungs. "I wouldn't like it, but I'd deal with it, buddy," I said, patting Hudson's back. "You need to focus on you."

When I thought his grip couldn't get any tighter, it got a lot tighter. I thought my ribs would snap, he was squeezing me so hard. However, I knew that it was entirely possible that he could be leaving, and I would never get this again. I tried to push past my dread, and said, "You're my best friend, and I want you to succeed. If you gotta go, don't spend your whole time worrying about me."

It took a little while for Hudson to let go. He paused to collect his thoughts, then made eye contact with me. "I really hope nothing happens, but . . . dammit, I don't know."

"Don't spend your every waking hour crying," I said. "Pass that course so you can come back to us. Don't worry about me or anybody else. Focus on you and everything you need to do to succeed, got it?"

Hudson nodded, even though tears were still running down his face. I roughly tousled his hair before standing up.

There were only a couple minutes until lights-out, so I had to hurry to Vasquez's room. She was already in bed, and gave me a dirty look when I walked in. "What took you so long?" she whispered.

"Hudson wanted to talk," I replied, pulling back the blanket so I could join her. "I'm all yours, all night."

Vasquez folded her arms over her chest while I covered her face in kisses. "Drake?"

"Yes?"

She grabbed my face. "That's enough. I said I wanted to talk to you. Talk now, kiss later."

"OK."

"Crowe was telling me that you were trying to tell him how to talk to me. Why? Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Everything."

Vasquez backhanded me. "I'm not being funny! I was doing fine with Crowe until you came along like the big moron you are, and fucked everything up."

"How did I fuck everything up, honey?"

"I don't need you standing over and observing every relationship I have. I work with Crowe on the field. I trust him. Hardy was trying to improve that by having us do more exercises together. And you know what? I've been doing great under Hardy. You need to stop being so paranoid."

"Fine. I won't ask anymore questions, other than this one: have you missed me?"

"I see you every day."

"But we haven't talked or slept together since you started this program thing. Do you miss that?"

Vasquez thought for a moment. "Yes, I do."

I pulled her close to me. "I miss you, too, sweetie-"

"_Ugh_, you smell like Hudson!" Vasquez started pushing me.

I threw off my shirt. "Better? I can't exactly go to my room right now and cover myself in deodorant."

Vasquez grabbed a stick of scentless deodorant from her nightstand, and forced my arms up to cover me in it. "I'd rather have you smell like nothing than like Hudson."

"I love you, too." I waited for her to put the stick down, and then I proceeded to smother her in kisses.

I could tell she missed nights like this when she grabbed my head again in order to kiss me full on the lips. We paused once to breathe, and then dove right back into that passionate moment.

My shorts were partway down when we heard giggling in the room next to us, which happens to be Spunkmeyer's room. Vasquez started cursing in Spanish, quietly, and pounding her fist on the mattress to make up for her lack of volume. "_Seriously?!_" she hissed.

I shrugged. "Just ignore them."

Well, we can't just ignore them, because, as I've said in many, many journal entries, the walls here are thin. You can hear a lot in the next room. It's kinda why, most of the time, Vasquez and I do our nighttime business in my room instead of hers, because we have Wierzbowski and Hudson (who snores and can't hear shit) as buffers between the rest of the squad. Vasquez has Hudson on one side, but Spunkmeyer on the other. Now that Spunkmeyer knows, we don't care, but that doesn't mean we want him hearing, nor do we want to hear him.

"You forgot to shave. Again," Ferro said.

"I'll shave tomorrow, I promise," Spunkmeyer replied.

"How many times have you said that?"

"I dunno." Spunkmeyer must've tapped Ferro on the nose, because I heard him say, "Boop!"

"Did he learn that from you?" Vasquez whispered. "I hate it when you do that!"

"I don't like that," Ferro grunted. "I'm gonna find something you don't like and-"

Spunkmeyer laughed. "Not my sides! Don't grab my-"

"Oh, so you don't like it? Good. I'll squeeze you next time you tap my nose."

"OK, I'm sorry!"

I looked at Vasquez. "Want me to knock?"

"I don't care! Make them shut up!" Vasquez hissed.

I knocked on the wall. "Hey, I know you guys are having fun over there, but the rest of us are trying to sleep."

"Sorry!" Ferro replied.

And then there was silence. I glanced at Vasquez, shrugging. "That's all. I didn't have to be mean or cuss 'em out." I grinned, and purred, "Now, where were we?"

Vasquez looked at my shorts, which were almost down to my thighs. "You know you look silly, right?"

"Yeah."

"Let me see your tattoo. Haven't looked at that in awhile."

Right before-literally, _the second_ before I could show her the tattoo she made me get on my groin, we heard Hudson flushing his toilet and saying something along the lines of, "I feel ten pounds lighter, man!"

I groaned before planting my face in a pillow.

* * *

_Question: How do you think Hicks feels about Hudson not wanting to advance in his career?_


	9. Chapter 9

I think it goes without saying that Vasquez and I didn't get to have that intimate moment last night, but we did make plans to see each other again tonight, in my room.

Upon getting dressed and heading down to the mess hall for breakfast, I realized that we only had two days to convince Hardy that Hudson should stay and just get his promotion here. Then again, I was probably the only person who wanted that.

Hicks and Apone were late joining us, which meant Spunkmeyer had plenty of time to toss granola chunks into Hudson's mouth. When they arrived, they caught Hudson leaning back, cheeks full of granola, and Spunkmeyer winding up to throw another.

"Does this look like a petting zoo where you can go around and feed the animals, Spunkmeyer?" Apone asked.

"No, sir." Spunkmeyer put the granola back in his bowl, looking ashamed.

Hicks sat down, taking a breath. "Hudson, I wanna see you in our office after breakfast, got it?"

"Am I in trouble?" Hudson asked with his mouth full.

"Probably," Vasquez muttered. "Why else would you be called down to the office?"

"No, you're not in trouble," Hicks replied. "Just a couple things we need to talk about."

We didn't see Hudson for some time after breakfast. When he emerged from Apone's office, he looked like he'd been punched in the chest. We were silent, wondering what just happened. My heart was pounding, afraid the worst had occurred. _He's getting transferred and I'm never going to see him again._

Hudson looked each of us in the eye. "You . . . aren't gonna see me for six weeks."

I felt Wierzbowski put his hands on my shoulders, squeezing them gently. I wasn't sure what to do or how to react. My first instinct was to scream, but I struggled against that. I pushed it all down, feeling so many painful emotions coming to a boil in my stomach.

"Drake, I'm sorry, man."

I did not-no, I _could not_-respond. I could not respond without allowing every emotion to explode outward. No matter how many times people have told me not to hold down my emotions, I held them down at that moment. This shouldn't be something to completely blow up over. It would be childish to do so.

* * *

I felt a similar way when Casey left, but it was a lot worse with Hudson. Despite what Ferro said about me having a lot of people I can turn to, I felt alone. I don't know why I felt alone. My best friend was leaving. I know I told him last night that he should put as much effort as he can into this, but I didn't think this would actually be happening so soon.

The first thing I wanted to do was isolate myself. I didn't want anyone seeing how much this was hurting, because everything I wanted to do was immature. God, it was like before I got my diagnosis; I was hiding and crying and feeling sorry for myself.

The only difference between now and then is that other people care, and they check on me.

I was just about ready to soak my pillow in tears when Wierzbowski opened the door. "Drake? Everything OK?"

I felt like I had taken a knife and made a slit down my torso so my guts can spill out. I planted my face in the pillow and screamed (frankly, I would've rather cut my stomach open than embarrass myself like this).

Wierzbowski closed the door, and sat on the bed to pat my back. He waited for me to lose my breath, and then said, "Can we talk about this?"

Without taking the pillow away from my face, I said, "Yes."

"I know . . . saying it's only for six weeks isn't going to help, so . . . honestly, I don't know what to do, but I don't think you should be all alone. Hell, Hudson told me he was a little worried about you. I . . . I hope you know this wasn't his choice-well, it kinda was. It was either do the training or get sent to another unit. That was all, though, there was no third option that would allow him to stay."

I took the pillow away from my face, and nodding. "I believe it."

"Want me to go get him?"

"Sure."

Wierzbowski gave my shoulder a squeeze before standing up and leaving the room. He returned five minutes later with Hudson. Before saying anything, Hudson lifted me up to hug me as tight as possible. "Hey, man," he said, muffled by my shirt. "I'm sorry, man, I'm so sorry." He rubbed my back, continuing to say that he was sorry. "I tried, man."

I think there was a lot we wanted to say, but we didn't know how to say it. God only knows how much time we have left, because I won't be able to sit on my thoughts forever.

"It won't be too long," Hudson said. "If I'm allowed to communicate with you, I'll call you every day. If not . . . I'll be thinking about you. You know, even if you feel . . . alone and sad, just remember I'm thinking about you, and I don't want you to feel alone. I'll probably be feeling the same way, man."

A small part of me wanted to let go, and stop crying. I felt like a pipe had burst inside me, and I was struggling to fix it. In time, though, it stopped, and we let go. Hudson's face and eyes were red. "Not gonna be for another few days," he said. "Let's just enjoy what time we got. Hey, at least you don't have to tell Miranda." A weak smile crossed his face. "I feel awful. She's going to cry and cry . . . poor girl. You'll take care of her, right?"

"If Vasquez doesn't kill me over it," I said, a small smile tugging at the edges of my mouth. "I'll keep Miranda company for you."

"Thanks. Last thing I want is for her to be miserable."

"You have my word. I won't make her miserable."

Wierzbowski let out a low whistle. "That might mean something incredibly naughty to someone not paying attention, Drake."

"It's just the three of us here. No one's gonna care."

"Point taken."

Hudson snorted. "Yeah, in all honesty, don't say that in front of anybody else, man."

* * *

I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel somewhat better as the day went on, but that didn't mean my shock had went away. However, I did learn that I wasn't the only one feeling bad about this; Vasquez was taking the _blame_ for this.

I found her sitting in the armory a couple hours after my talk with Hudson. She wasn't crying, but she looked upset-well, I could tell she was upset, so I sat next to her and hugged her. "What's the matter, honey?" I whispered.

"I shouldn't have agreed to do this fucking program," she said.

"Why?"

"Because then Hardy wouldn't have stuck around and decided to send Hudson away! You're gonna be miserable, and I thought we were trying to deal with that!"

"Well, gee, I thought Hardy was teaching you how to deal with me."

"I never said that. He's helping me with my own problems. I haven't said one word about you to him."

"And have you been feeling better? Be honest."

Vasquez fell silent. "I get along better with Crowe, but I can't talk to him the way I can with you. Of course I can't. I've known you for over four years, and we've gone through similar shit. I can't talk to him about . . . us. I'd be more inclined to talk to Hudson than Crowe."

"Maybe, once you feel like you can trust him, you can tell him. I talked to him a few nights ago, and he seems like someone we can both trust."

"Sooner or later, the whole fucking unit is gonna know."

"I don't think so."

"Then we're not telling Crowe."

"OK."

"It's bad enough you blabbed to Hudson last year."

"You've had some heart-to-heart conversations with Hudson since then. Don't lie to me. I know you trust him when you feel like shit and I'm not around, or when you're having a problem with me." I frowned. "What, you think it makes you look tougher and more mature to keep treating Hudson like garbage? If anything, it makes you look immature, and like a coward, because you've blatantly lied to my face. Honey, _I don't care_ if you trust Hudson as a friend." I shrugged. "So, am I correct when I say that you feel bad about this because of what Hudson being gone might do to me, and subsequently, our relationship? This has nothing to do with the fact that . . . Hudson's your friend, too? You're gonna miss him, I know it. You can tell me, privately, that you miss him. I'm not gonna tell anyone, I promise."

Vasquez didn't immediately respond, probably because she knew I was right. With a quiet sigh, she rested her head on my shoulder. "You're not actually mad, are you?"

I hugged her tightly, kissing her forehead. "No. I could never stay mad at you. Did I sound angry? I'm sorry. I love you." I nuzzled her face. "You can be open with me, sweetheart. I know it's hard, but . . . we're working on it." I planted a few more kisses on her forehead and cheeks. "We still sleeping together tonight?"

"Yes, Drake. Hopefully Hudson won't have to take an enormous shit tonight."

"I don't think we can guarantee that, honey." However, I did know that when he was gone, we wouldn't have to worry about his interruptions at night. I should be happy about that, but, instead, I wasn't.

* * *

Ranelli surprised me a little by saying that Hudson leaving was actually a good thing. I decided not to get angry, though, and listened to him.

"This goes hand-in-hand with what I've been trying to teach you about balancing things out in your life. Having an emotional support system is important, but it's also important not to become dependent on it. Being dependent on others for your emotional wellbeing will do more harm than good, not only for you, but for them as well. They can't always be there for you, and it isn't healthy for you to sit around and be upset about it. You need to learn to buck yourself up, to use a colloquial term. Realistically, I won't be staying with your unit until you get your discharge." Ranelli looked at me, wanting that last sentence to sink in.

That idea was going to take its sweet time digesting, so I sat in silence for a few minutes.

"It'll be awhile. By then, you'll have the skills necessary to move forward in life. Now, when it comes to coping with your emotional support system not being present, the number one thing you must remember is to feel what you feel. Don't bury it. Don't tell yourself it's not the right thing to feel. Let it happen. Being open with others is as important as being open with yourself."

"How do I be open without . . . exploding?"

"Exploding tends to happen when you keep those emotions pressed down and bottled up. If you are open as soon as you feel something, and say what's on your mind-respectfully, of course-then it's less likely you will explode."

I nodded. "What . . . happens after I accept that I'm upset over Hudson being gone?"

"That depends on you. Are you going to sit and mope, or are you going to go about your day?"

"What happens if I have no energy, like when my depression kicks in?"

"In this case, you have several other people to turn to for help. I can't give any advice for if you were completely alone, because I don't feel you're ready."

"I don't feel ready either. Probably never will."

Ranelli offered me a smile. "Drake, you're a strong man, getting stronger each day. You haven't surprised yourself yet?"

I paused to think. "What do you mean?"

"Have you stopped to think, 'Wow, I couldn't have done that a year ago. I'm doing well.'"

"I think I have, but . . . then something comes along to knock it down."

"Yourself."

"Yeah. I kill my own happiness."

"Not consciously. It's still not strong enough to break through parts of your mind and become a more dominant emotion." Ranelli added some more hot water to my tea. "I'm sure Hudson finally becoming a PFC will make you happy."

"He told me he never really cared, even though he should. He kinda accepted that it wasn't going to happen after everything he did when he was brand-new to the Corps."

"I think this experience might be as good for him as it will be for you. I've noticed he might be a tad dependent on you. In fact, his situation is a little similar to yours with Casey. Hudson feels better when taking care of you, as you did with Casey."

"So this is going to be an . . . experience for both of us."

"Exactly. In the end, it'll make you both mentally and emotionally stronger."

* * *

I spent the rest of the day thinking about how, despite knowing each other for over a year after I joined the unit, Hudson and I never connected. Like everyone else, I thought he was annoying, not very bright, possibly a drunkard, and periodically alternates between thinking with either his stomach or his balls (now it's more with his stomach and less with his balls, because he saves that for one person, finally). Frankly, if I didn't get poisoned by the silver flower, neither would Hudson, and we probably wouldn't have found anything to start connecting over. We wouldn't have become friends. Best friends, actually.

I didn't have someone I felt like calling my best friend when I was growing up. Friends came and went, and stopped altogether when I entered high school. Saying I was lonely day-in and day-out is a severe understatement. Up until I met Vasquez, I didn't have anyone to turn to just talk with. I know Vasquez is also my best friend, but you're supposed to call your girlfriend your best friend (and she's supposed to call me her best friend). A guy best friend is a little different. I needed a guy best friend, and Hudson became that. I certainly didn't think Hudson would become my best friend when I first met him two years ago. I didn't think anyone would even want to approach me for a non-work-related reason. Quiet Wierzbowski seemed a little unsure of me. Hell, I'm pretty sure he thought I was the last person he'd ever trust with his past problems.

Come to think of it, I think it was Hudson who gradually introduced me to the rest of the squad. I have a much easier time talking to everyone, way easier than when I first arrived. Upon coming to that realization, I started to feel like I could deal with Hudson's absence for six weeks. He's not my only friend. He's my best friend, and no one can replace that, but not my only friend.

Before lights-out, I was sitting in the lounge with Wierzbowski and Spunkmeyer. Hudson was spending the night at Miranda's, telling her the news, and probably doing something to make her feel better. It was really quiet, aside from an action movie on the TV.

"What exactly were you and Ferro doing last night?" I asked. "You were really loud and obnoxious."

"Goofing around," Spunkmeyer replied, setting a card on the table. "You're gonna lose your fucking Oreos, 'Ski."

"This is the first time in a long time we can play with food and it doesn't magically disappear on us," Wierzbowski said.

"Is it weird that I'm gonna miss that?" I asked.

"No, but the rest of us are gonna be happy," Spunkmeyer said. "Anyways, Ferro and I were just having fun. We did the sex, now it's time to enjoy each other's company in bed."

Wierzbowski gave me a look. "Why'd you have to ask?" he muttered.

I shrugged. "Just curious. He ruined a moment between me and Vasquez."

Spunkmeyer grinned, raising his eyebrows. "Ooh, you and Vasquez were, ah, getting busy?"

"We tried. You yelping and Hudson announcing to the world he just lost ten pounds in literal crap kinda ruined it."

"That is a little too much information, Drake," Wierzbowski said.

"Hudson was giving away too much information."

"Ditto. Hey, uh, when're yous gonna sleep with your girlfriend, 'Ski?" Spunkmeyer flashed another grin.

"Already did," Wierzbowski replied, keeping his eyes on his cards and not showing much emotion.

Spunkmeyer gasped. "You son-of-a-bitch!" He laughed. "You serious?!"

"No."

"Wait, what?"

"It was just sleeping, and snuggling. No sex."

"You're killing us, 'Ski."

"Cuddling is a big deal," I said. "If you can't put up with that, you'll never move on to the next step."

"I didn't have to cuddle." Spunkmeyer stuck his tongue out at us.

I gave him a look. "You saved the cuddling for _after_ sex?" I made a low whistle. "That's earning it, buddy. I'm usually too tired to do anything when I'm done with my business."

"I think you're an old man inside, Drake."

I leaned in. "What was that? I couldn't hear you. I'm an old man."

That got a laugh out of Wierzbowski.

"My back really hurts. I can't keep leaning like this. Speak up, there, youngster."

Spunkmeyer gave us both dirty looks. "Nothing wrong with putting more effort into my girlfriend."

"What effort have you put into me?" Ferro paused by the table, looking at Spunkmeyer.

"Oh, we were just . . . talking. I do more for you than they do for their girlfriends."

Ferro smirked. "Do you? Have you set up my shower just the way I like it before I get in there?"

Spunkmeyer looked confused. "What?"

"Drake does it for Vasquez. And have you taken me out for dinner or ice cream yet?"

"Uhh-"

"You got a long way to go before you're on the same level as Drake and 'Ski, sweetie." Ferro ran her finger under Spunkmeyer's chin, and patted his head before walking away.

Spunkmeyer blushed, glancing at me and Wierzbowski before mouthing, "I didn't know."

I picked up my water bottle. "Ouch. You got some work to do."

Wierzbowski was laughing so hard, tears rolled down his face.

"Hudson has done more for his girlfriend than you've done for Ferro!"

"Drake, stop, I can't breathe!" Wierzbowski held his stomach.

If we had moments like this while Hudson was gone, I think I'll be OK.

* * *

_Question: Given that Hudson doesn't receive therapy the way Drake does, what problems do you think might arise while he's getting his training (i.e., flashbacks to the mission in Romania, Hornby's lab)?_


	10. Chapter 10

A blanket of silence fell over the base after Hicks went around to knock on everyone's doors and tell them to go to bed. Of course, he had no idea Vasquez wasn't in her own room. We remained quiet until we heard the loud _clicks_ of the lights going out.

"There should be no interruptions tonight," I whispered, a grin spreading across my face.

Vasquez gave me a lopsided smirk. I had been expecting a more cynical response, but not this.

I paused, listening to next door. It was quiet, because Hudson wasn't here. Frankly, it wasn't very comforting, because I would have to get used to that silent for six whole weeks. I sighed, pulling Vasquez as close as possible for a kiss. I was really hoping tonight would be blissful, with good dreams.

Well, this is me we're talking about. I don't have good dreams. Most of the time.

Even after a satisfactory session, I dealt with nightmares. Almost as soon as I closed my eyes, I found myself falling through nothingness. I tried grabbing at something, even though there was nothing in sight to grab onto. Then a cliff appeared. I threw myself onto it, landing hard on my chest. Air rushed from my lungs, and I felt like I had broken several ribs. It hurt to stand, and it hurt to breathe, but I forced myself up anyway. It looked like there was no civilization for miles.

I then saw Spunkmeyer stumble out from behind a tree. His eyes were sunken deep into his skull, and his ribs were protruding from under his shirt. He fell to his knees before vomiting what looked like hundreds of silver pearls. That was when I suddenly had the sensation that every organ in my abdomen was being crushed, harder and harder. I grabbed my service knife from its sheath, and cut myself open. I must've broken several pearls in the process, because hundreds of them spilled out, mixed with that runny silver fluid.

"Hey, bye, man." Hudson walked by me, waving, and jumped off the cliff.

I sat upright in bed, breathing hard. I looked down at myself. There was no crushing feeling, no large cut.

Vasquez moved on her back to look up at me. "What's the matter?" she whispered.

"Bad dreams," I said.

She put her arm around to pull me back down, and kiss my cheek. "Same crap?"

"Yeah."

She gave me another kiss. "Try to go back to sleep. By the way, your shorts are still untied."

"Thanks for letting me know."

* * *

We got a little more info on when Hudson would be leaving. He actually could've been leaving tomorrow, but Dietrich demanded it wait a few more days because of his injury from our last mission.

Originally, I had felt guilty over letting Hudson get shot. Now, I'm wondering if it was meant to be. Then again, Dietrich could have easily let Hudson go.

After breakfast, I decided to thank her. I went to sick bay, hoping I'd catch her at the right moment. She had just given a heavy cardboard box to Wierzbowski to bring down to med storage, and turned to face me as I walked in the lobby. "What do you want, Drake?" she asked.

"Came to say 'thanks,'" I said.

"For what?"

"For making Hudson stay a few more days."

Dietrich's expression didn't change. "I didn't make him stay because of you. I made him stay because he's going to be stuck in the basic training facility for six weeks. I want his wound to heal more before he's sent to that bacterial breeding ground."

"I know. I still wanna thank you."

"And you're welcome, Drake. Goodbye and have a nice day."

"He's trying to be nice to you," Wierzbowski said as he came down the hall. "The least you could do is sound like you appreciate it."

"Why?"

"Would you rather you get no thanks, period?"

That actually made Dietrich think. "Fine." She looked at me. "You're very welcome, Drake."

As Dietrich walked away, Wierzbowski leaned in to whisper to me. "She almost got it. Not quite there, yet."

"I can tell," I said.

"Is there anything else you need?"

"No."

"I should be done in the next hour. You and Hudson and I can go have some real coffee and chat."

* * *

When the three of us headed out to a café, Hudson told us about Miranda's reaction to him having to leave. As I figured, she wasn't happy, but she felt it wasn't Hudson's fault. Hudson kinda broke down and said it was his fault, because it was his stupidity that resulted in his rank stagnating for almost five years. Miranda accepted that, though, and didn't get mad at him. He had clearly changed since then. I guess that's a sign those two are meant to be together forever.

I also learned that the process of sending Hudson away wasn't as simple as shoving him on a plane and dropping him off in Virginia. There was a lot of paperwork to be filled out, mainly by Apone, in order to keep Hudson with this unit once he got promoted to PFC. Hudson had the choice of being switched to another unit, but he was adamant in staying with us. Basically, it was to keep Hudson's instructors from sending him to the wrong location once his training was over.

He also needed booster vaccines. They used to give booster vaccines to Marines in this training program at the boot camp facility, but General Russell changed that because boot camp sick bay is extremely slow, especially since most of their time is spent processing new recruits. Now, Dietrich has to send out a request for a giant penicillin needle and a booster variant of adenovirus pills, that way she can administer them to Hudson with no hassle.

For the most part, private-to-PFC rank advancement training is considered embarrassing, especially if you should've been promoted a long time ago. There normally aren't a lot of Marines in that training (average is twenty per division), and the sergeants and lieutenants in charge try to keep them away from the recruit divisions, because some drill instructors will harass them. It's basically a requirement for each promotion training division to have an officer to prevent that, though some can't get one and everyone has to pray that their division sergeant isn't afraid of other sergeants. As far as I know, Apone commanded a promotion training division for four years before requesting he get his own field unit. Might be where he learned to both train us like a team, and make sure our individual, personal needs were met at the same time. I've never asked for the details about his time before commanding us.

Hudson would be sleeping and eating in the same place as the recruits. As for communication, he could write letters, but could only send them out once a week. Training consisted of written tests and field training. His reasons for not advancing in rank would be addressed, and he told me and Wierzbowski that he wasn't ready for that, because he didn't want to be embarrassed a second time.

"Would that be before or after your training?" I asked.

"After," Hudson said.

"Show your instructors you're . . . not the person you once were. I know you can do that. Not like you're gonna be around us terrible influences anyway," I snorted.

"You guys aren't bad influences, man," Hudson replied. "I'm gonna miss you. All of you."

"If you do your best and don't piss anybody off, those six weeks will go by fast," Wierzbowski said. "We'll be thinking about you every single day."

"Hey, man, I don't leave for another few days. Dietrich's gotta jam a needle in my butt and make sure my stitches look good."

"Do you want us to be there when she sticks that needle in your butt?" I asked.

"No."

"I have to be there, though," Wierzbowski said. "To hold you down so you don't squirm."

"I'll be fine, man. Did OK with the first shot in basic. I can handle this one."

"It's been, what, five years since then? I don't think you'll handle it, even though you know it's coming," I laughed.

"Oh, yeah? How'd you do with your shot, man?"

"I think I grunted at the medic with the needle, but that was it. I didn't screech or fight or anything."

"Well, good for you, man." Hudson rolled his eyes. "How about you, Wierzbowski?"

"I remember being fine with it. Didn't like it, but I didn't get nervous or give dirty looks to the corpsmen," Wierzbowski replied. "It'll just be me and Dietrich there. You should be fine."

"Dietrich scares me, man."

"Don't piss her off, then. I think she's going to miss you, too, mainly because you add excitement to her day."

"Not in the way you add excitement to Miranda's day," I said.

Hudson hung his head. "She's gonna be miserable without me."

I patted his shoulder. "Just don't forget to send her a letter every week."

* * *

I found out that when Hudson left, Hardy was going as well, and someone else would be mentoring Vasquez. Not sure who, but that's all I know.

I've become less and less paranoid and frustrated over Vasquez being in this program. It could be from getting used to her leaving for it every day, or me finding other things to do, or my brain gave up and accepted it. I think that's what happened, but I don't think I'll ever know.

There was something coming up that would keep us distracted from Hudson leaving, and that was Hicks's birthday. He's turning 25, which is hard to believe, because he acts and looks a lot older.

I wanted to do something special, as a thank-you for all he's done for me, so everyone (aside from Hicks, who was taking care of Hudson's paperwork) gathered in the courtyard to discuss his birthday.

"If anything," Hudson started, "Hicks deserves a very long vacation, man."

"We could get him a plane ticket to go home for a few days," Dietrich added.

"You guys can get more creative than that," I said.

"Well . . . he's halfway to fifty," Hudson replied.

"We are not getting him a card that says that!" Ferro gave Hudson a dirty look. "That's just mean!"

"Did you expect Hudson to have any good ideas?" Frost asked.

"Did anyone even ask Hicks what he wants?" Wierzbowski sighed.

"No, did you?"

Wierzbowski blushed. "N-No . . ."

"Some friend you are, man!" Hudson laughed.

"Oh, like you're any better! You're not even gonna be here on his birthday!"

"Not my choice, man!"

"You can put a small ounce of effort into this before you go."

Apone took his cigar out of his mouth. "Alright, that's enough. I'm sure everyone's combined brainpower can produce a good idea for Hicks."

"How about-" Hudson raised his hand, "all of us pitch in to make a cake."

"Not with you. You'll eat the batter," Vasquez said.

"Would not. I'd be taste-testing."

"No one believes that," Spunkmeyer replied. "No one. And if anyone did, they'd be a total moron. Or a liar."

"You don't trust me?" Hudson gave Spunkmeyer a sad look.

"Around food? No. Not in a million years."

"Damn." Hudson snapped his fingers.

"Look, all I want is for Hicks to know that we appreciate everything he does for us," I said. "What's something he wants more than anything else in the world?"

"His friend back," Crowe said. "I'm not trying to be a smartass, I'm saying, he . . . that's what he probably wants more than anything."

The only sound heard was the wind rustling the leaves for the scrawny trees around us. I sighed.

"Paulson's got family that Hicks hasn't spoken to in awhile," Wierzbowski said. "He told me last month that he wouldn't mind getting back in contact with them."

"Who in his family?" I asked.

"Paulson's widow and son."

It's been a long time since I did something sneaky. Hell, the last time was when I went behind Hicks's back to look at old files of his in Ranelli's desk drawer. Believe me when I say I don't want to do something like that again, but I felt like this would actually help Hicks rather than kick dirt up in his face.

* * *

Hudson, Wierzbowski, and Spunkmeyer were all in on my plan, which was to keep Hicks out of his room as long as possible, so I could find the contact information of either Paulson's widow or his son.

"I need you, Spunkmeyer, to cause a ruckus in the loading bay," I said.

Spunkmeyer pointed to himself. "Me? How?"

"Use your powerloader, I dunno. Get angry because someone insulted it or something."

Spunkmeyer narrowed his eyes to hazel slits. "Did someone insult my powerloader? Did you hear something?"

"No. No one actually insulted your powerloader. Pretend someone did, so you can march around loading bay, throwing crates of cornbread and dried pineapple chunks everywhere."

"I'm the insulter," Hudson said. "We gotta start yelling at each other, get Hicks to come in, and then you get in the powerloader and make a mess. That should buy Drake enough time to find that contact information, man."

"You better find it, because I don't think this is going to end well," Wierzbowski said.

"Your job is to warn me if Hicks is coming," I replied. "Get in position. It's showtime."

Spunkmeyer and Hudson walked down the hall toward the loading bay, talking casually at first. Then Hudson said, "You know, I think the loading bay would look less crowded if we ditched the powerloader and got one of those little forklifts, man."

I'm not sure if Spunkmeyer was legitimately angry, or he was doing a really good job at acting, because he sounded _pissed_.

"I'm sure the whole _base_ would look less crowded if we threw your _fat ass OUT OF IT!_" Spunkmeyer slapped Hudson, then stormed over to his powerloader. "She can lift heavy things, but can she lift _you?!_"

Hudson looked terrified. "Oh, shit, man."

Wierzbowski looked at me, giving me a thumbs-up. "Hicks is leaving Apone's office. Go."

I ducked into Hicks's room, hearing a loud _crash_ as Spunkmeyer began tossing aside food crates to get to Hudson, who, from what I heard, was actually scared. He wasn't just acting. I also heard Hicks yelling, which was good for me.

My heart was pounding and I felt dizzy while skimming through Hicks's old documents. This felt wrong. I knew it was wrong. Why was I doing it? Because I felt like reconnecting with these people would help Hicks heal. It's been five years, but he still has fits of depression.

And it's my fault. Hicks would've been fine if I didn't dig up the shit of his past.

_Don't worry about that now._ I opened a wide drawer on Hicks's desk. It was littered with sticky notes, pens, unsharpened pencils, cards-anything that fit, it was in there. I read the sticky notes, hoping to find the contact information of Paulson's family members.

I cursed under my breath when I couldn't find anything in that drawer, but breathed a sigh of relief when I found a small journal in another one. There weren't a lot of numbers, but I did find one Vince Paulson, whose address was right here in D.C.

Peering out into the hallway, I gave Wierzbowski my signal. I had the phone number and address written on the inside cover of one of my journals, and I would call Vince once I had the chance, but I couldn't do so on base. The risk of Hicks catching me was too high.

Spunkmeyer was howling profanities and Hicks was trying to put a stop to his little rampage. Hudson ran into the hallway when he saw Wierzbowski give the signal, which told Spunkmeyer to stop as well.

He did, after destroying a crate of orange juice concentrate. Hicks ended up dragging Spunkmeyer out of his harness in the loader, and pretty much carried his ass down to the brig. He's in a lot of trouble. A lot. To the point where I will regret this plan if all does not go well. He's got fines and a lot of brig time waiting for him.

The rest of the day was quiet, though we all had to pitch in with cleaning up the mess in the loading bay. Spunkmeyer was smart enough not to make too big of a mess, but that orange juice concentrate was a pain, mainly because it hadn't been frozen yet. I planned on going right to Vince's apartment tomorrow to talk to him in person, and frankly, I was nervous. I don't know how he handled the death of his father, and I was going to feel awful bringing it up. I knew I couldn't talk about Hicks without mentioning Paulson himself.

I mulled that over while cleaning, during dinner, and as I lay in bed that night. Then again, there's the possibility that Vince would be OK with this. I can't assume that, though.

Hudson was supposed to be getting his booster shots and more paperwork today, so he was going to be away from the rest of us for most of the day. I got my pass from Apone, and headed out shortly after breakfast. Spunkmeyer destroying things yesterday meant that we were getting leftovers-bad leftovers. I took advantage of being out to grab myself a real breakfast and some coffee.

I ended up going to a small apartment complex in a nicely manicured neighborhood. The apartments were basically small, two-family homes, attached together and lining four streets in the complex. No one had their own backyard-they had to share it with whoever was in their house. These are meant to be temporary, until you can get yourself a better apartment in the city, or head out to the suburbs for your own house and your own yard.

One thing I learned in prison is never make eye contact with someone you don't have a good feeling about. Walking into this complex, I saw people sitting on the front steps of their houses. Some were looking at me, some weren't. I kept my head down, just like I did in the prison yard.

I looked up when I came to the apartment number I had written down in my journal. Releasing my breath, I knocked, and heard a male voice saying, "Coming, coming!" A moment later, a somewhat scruffy man with brown hair and a heavy-looking knit sweater opened the door. He looked me up and down, confused as to why a Marine private was at his doorstep. "Can I . . . help you, sir?"

"No 'sirs,' please, I'm here to talk to you in private." I held out my hand. "Mark Drake."

The confusion didn't leave his eyes. "Vincent . . . Paulson. I . . . h-have we met?"

"No. You do know a Dwayne Hicks, right?"

The confusion faded. "Come inside, and we'll talk."

The apartment was indeed a little small. The front door led right into the living room. From there, you could see the doors to the bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen. Behind the couch was a very large map of the world, with red thumbtacks dotting random spots in nearly every ocean. Some of the edges were worn and ripped.

"Do you want a cup of coffee?" Vince was standing in the kitchen doorway, holding a mug.

"Sure," I replied, figuring it wouldn't hurt to have a second cup. The wall was covered in small maps and lists, held up by tape. The fridge had magnets from several countries, some holding up a grocery list that only had two items written on it. Under the tiny table were boxes, some marked "_electronics_" or "_GPS parts_."

Pouring a cup from a coffeemaker that looked like it should've been replaced years ago, Vince placed it front of me before sitting across from me. "So, you came to talk to me about Dwayne. Is he your . . . squad corporal?"

"Yeah," I said. "He hasn't talked to you or your mother in a few years."

"Last time he spoke to Mom was at Dad's funeral, which I . . . didn't make it to. I fix radar on fishing boats, so I get sent to very remote places. Very, very remote. I was out near Greenland right around the time Dad died, and didn't . . . didn't get the message until a week after New Year's. Yeah, last time I spoke to Dwayne was Easter of the year before, so it's been a really long time." Vince gave me another confused look. "Did something happen? Is that why you're here?"

"It's a long story. He didn't take your dad's death very well-"

"No one did. I didn't. I don't know why he decided to hang himself. Every fucking day, people'd come up to me and ask if I knew something that might put some more pieces together with his suicide. There was never any 'I'm sorry.' Gone was this heroic and gentle and caring man, who gave so much to the Marines and me and Mom and everyone else he cared about. They turned him into a number, a stat to put on the posters for suicide hotlines in every base across the globe. Look, I get it; it was sudden and nobody knows why it happened. At this point, I don't care anymore." Tears started running through the stubble on Vince's face. "Drake, I'm sorry."

"Kinda sounds like you needed to say what's on your mind," I said. "I wasn't in the Marines when your dad was around, but I heard a lot about him from Hicks and a few others who had encounters with him. Hell, it was your dad's program that . . . put me in the Marines, actually."

"The prison one?"

"Yeah. I won't get into the details of my story, but if I could thank him, I would. I don't feel like I deserve any second chances, but this one's probably been the most beneficial for me."

"He never got to see the results of that program." Vince took a breath, drying his face with a napkin. "Alright, so, what happened with Dwayne after Dad's suicide?"

I did my best to describe how Hicks developed bipolar, finally got transferred to a functional unit, and was fine for a few years before I came along. I tried to explain what I did without sounding sorry for myself. "Going through his records was . . . wrong. I really should've just talked to him, and I didn't. Over the last few months, a few things have happened that keep reigniting that grief. He connected with a woman he was dating when Paulson died and that's been involuntarily setting him off. Back in February, I ran into someone who gave me a possible clue as to why Paulson killed himself. It has to do with the earliest stages of the service or jail program."

"I remember that. Someone implemented the thing too early and DIs and recruits were getting hurt before everything was finalized." Vince looked down at the table. "There was a miscommunication somewhere, but the blame fell on Dad. People had a right to be angry, but not at him. He really tried to straighten things out. I can remember he got quiet about pretty much everything. People were sending threats to him, to Mom, to me. For a few months, it was a nightmare. Things got better, but . . . I guess, if that's the case, he said nothing because he didn't think a bunch of faceless losers should effect him. If he said something, people would accuse him of having a fragile ego."

"I feel like something else may've been involved, but we'll never know," I said. "Anyway, Hicks blamed himself for why Paulson died, and I told him what I found out in order for him to not blame himself anymore."

"Dad loved him like a second son. They connected-" Vince snapped his fingers, "just like that. I don't believe for a second that Dwayne had something to do with his suicide. So . . . how come he didn't bother contacting me or Mom in the last five-six years?"

"I don't know. He told Wierzbowski-one of the guys in our unit-that he's thinking about it, just to see how you're doing. Now, I came because Hicks's birthday is coming up at the end of the month, and I wanted to see if you were interested in seeing him again. I thought maybe this would be a good surprise for him."

Thinking for a moment, Vince drummed his fingers on the table. "I . . . could . . . Yeah, absolutely. Just give me a time, a place, and I'll show up."

"Alright. Thanks. There's no real plan, yet. I can call you when I got something figured out."

"No problem. Honestly, I wasn't expecting something like this to happen today, and it was a good surprise." Vince stood up, placing his empty mug by the sink. "Want something to eat? I got tuna steaks in the fridge I should cook up soon. The guys I work for like to give me some of their stock as a thank-you for what I do."

"I've never had a tuna steak before, but it's probably better than the shit we eat on base. I'll have one."

* * *

_Question: How would Drake's interaction with Paulson's son be different if this had taken place the previous year?_


	11. Chapter 11

I still felt like I made a lot of bad choices yesterday in regards to getting Vince's information. For one thing, we got Spunkmeyer in a lot of trouble, and I deliberately went through Hicks's things-again. Despite that, though, I was getting along really well with Paulson's son. It did feel a bit surreal; I've heard a lot about Paulson, but given that he's gone, I'll never actually meet him. I got to meet fifty percent of his DNA, though. It kinda counts.

Vince is his own person, though, and I did get the impression that he suffered a lot in the months and years after his father's death. He was never a Marine, but he was constantly around them, to the point where most Marines who worked close with his dad knew who he was as well, and gave him a lot of respect. He sorta had two lives: one with the Marines, and one in the civilian world, and the one in the civilian world was immensely lonely.

It didn't come as a surprise to me, that, as a kid, Vince never stayed in one place for very long. He learned pretty early on not to get emotionally attached to anyone or anything, and it wasn't until his father reached the rank of colonel that he gained a lot more power and influence over things within the USCM, and his own life. That was fairly late in Vince's childhood. He was a junior in high school when that happened, and staying in one place felt awkward at that time. Having the freedom to do things he wanted was a bit strange. Regardless, his dad was always there for him, helping him and guiding him down the career path he wanted, even though it wasn't the Marines.

"How come you decided not to join the Marines?" I asked.

Vince paused, thinking for a moment. "Well, I love my father, but I felt like I needed to follow my own path. He wanted me to follow my own path. When I became a lot older, he'd tell me that he had days where he felt like he wasn't doing enough so I could be independent. He felt bad that I didn't have a lot of friends and the only times I really socialized were during Marine balls and parties and stuff. He encouraged me to do what I wanted when I graduated high school. So, I went to a tech school, found radar and GPS fascinating, and the rest is history. I love what I do, and that was the most important thing to him. I think we bonded better when I became an adult compared to when I was younger." He got quiet again, glancing down at the pretty nicely seared tuna in front of him. "I enjoyed the Marine parties and formal gatherings a bit more when I got older. Hell, that's how I met Dwayne. Dad introduced me to him and we started talking. He was kinda the first friend I ever had. I could listen to him talk for hours, because everything he says is worth hearing." Vince laughed. "Picture this; an eighteen-nineteen-year-old kid, telling a twenty-nine-year-old man about his life in Alabama. He wasn't snotty, or felt he was better than me, but he acted so much older than he was."

"Still does," I replied, putting a forkful of tuna in my mouth. "I think his illness plays a major role in it now."

The smile gradually faded from Vince's face. "After Dad died, that was it with my relationship with the Marines, including Dwayne. Dad was kinda the only reason I had some of the privileges I did. Without him, I became . . . another civvie. Within about a year after he was gone, I stopped getting phone calls from some of his colleagues and subordinates. No one casually called to see how I was doing. I haven't forgot about it, but I figured it'd be best to let go, move on, and . . . try to keep going."

I shrugged. "At least . . . you can talk about this without exploding."

"Honestly, it depends on who I'm having this conversation with you. You seem like you . . . I don't wanna say 'understand,' but you seem like you're listening. I mean, I didn't know who you were till about two hours ago, but I got a good feeling about you."

"Part of me does understand. Mainly, everything you've said about . . . being alone for most of your life. I've been alone almost my whole life." I took a breath. "It's . . . not . . . easy to talk about."

"I guessed at that considering you said you're in from Dad's program."

"Well, you already know that. May as well tell you the rest of the story."

"Hey, if you don't want to, don't bother. I ain't forcing you."

"No, you told me a lot of things I imagine are uncomfortable for you, so I'll tell you what happened with me." I sighed. "I wanted to run away from home. I felt like I wasn't able to focus on what I wanted. I didn't know what I wanted. I ran away, ended up . . . killing three people and stealing a car. That was it. I was never supposed to see the light of day again, until I was offered this second chance. Now, I didn't fully believe I deserved it, but I wondered if it was true I'd get redemption by serving. It's been almost three years, and I still feel . . . guilty. I feel like a failure. That's been my biggest fear the whole time. Failure. I can't fail at this."

Vince shook his head. "You're not a failure. You got this far. You can keep going."

"That's not all." I covered my face, feeling everything in the back of my brain surge forward. "Ever since last year, I've been dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder."

"You think that makes you a failure?"

"Some days, I don't know."

"Drake, as long as you get up every morning and don't quit on yourself, you are not a failure. That's it. You do not have to run a mile every day, or help out ten strangers, or any of the other shit some people will tell you to do to feel better about yourself."

"I know. Getting up in the morning isn't difficult. It's . . . not letting my thoughts take over that's the main issue."

For a brief moment, I wondered if I started thinking a little too hard. I felt like something bad had just happened. My heart was pounding and a sense of dread overwhelmed me. Given how many times this has happened before, I knew damn well it was another fucking panic attack. I guess I delved into my mind a little too fast, with no caution.

Instinctively, I got up. "Sorry, I gotta use the bathroom."

However, when I collapsed in the tiny bathroom, I forgot how small the house is. Almost as soon as I started sobbing, I heard Vince leave the kitchen, and knock on the door. "Drake? Are you OK?"

I really didn't know how to answer. Frankly, I was embarrassed to be having a panic attack in front of someone I just met, while sitting on the floor of their bathroom.

I didn't think to lock the door. Vince opened it, and knelt in front of me. "Hey, what happened? Was it something I said? Did I upset you?"

"No," I moaned. "I-I'm sorry . . ."

"You got nothing to be sorry for, no." Vince handed me a tissue box. "Take a few deep breaths, alright?"

Like all my previous panic attacks, this one didn't last very long. I was shaky and struggled to stand when I felt able to. The only difference between this and all my other panic attacks was that I still felt like something bad happened.

I've had dreams that can be described as precognitive. Whether or not they actually are is another story, and I don't know if just having a feeling that something bad happened is precognition.

Even though there was a part of me that wanted to keep talking to Vince (hell, even if him reuniting with Hicks didn't go well, I planned on keeping in contact with him), I had to go back to base. When I did, I noticed silence had fallen over the complex. Not only was it because Spunkmeyer wasn't in the loading bay, talking to his powerloader, it was also because someone else was missing.

The lounge was strangely quiet. Everyone was off doing their own thing. I looked around for a brief second. "Is Hudson still in sick bay?"

Wierzbowski looked at Frost, who glanced at Crowe and Ferro. "Tell him," Crowe whispered.

Frost shrugged before making full eye contact with me. "Hudson's gone. Got his shots, Apone finished his paperwork. Hardy took him to the airport not that long ago."

At that point, I wasn't hiding my emotions. You can't hold back what I was feeling then. It's impossible.

"You knew it was gonna happen, Drake."

"I didn't think it was gonna happen _today!_" I shouted. _While I was gone, no less._ My face became hot and tears choked me. I felt like my chest had been raked open, and suddenly I didn't want to be around anyone.

Hicks had just walked to the lounge as I was leaving. "Drake, I got-"

Without a second thought, I shoved him against the wall. "You let him go?! You just _let him go?!_"

"It wasn't my choice!"

"If you gave more a damn, you woulda made him stay!"

"Drake, I tried. I told you I did."

"_You didn't try hard enough!_"

Hicks remained somewhat calm. It was as if he knew I'd have this reaction. "I did everything except get on my knees and beg. Drake, things happen that are beyond our control."

I relaxed my grip on him, and stormed off. I've never felt so powerless and angry and sad before. Well, maybe once before. The first day I spent in prison.

I don't want to think about it.

I don't want to think right now.

* * *

Wierzbowski ended up cancelling a date with Eliza to be with me. (Honestly, why anyone would cancel a date with their girlfriend to be with a piece of crap like me is beyond my ability to comprehend things.) He sat with me in my room, not doing anything other than patting my shoulder every so often.

I wished this was a joke. I wanted Hudson to just barge in, laughing and saying this was one big joke, and give me a bone-crushing hug. Somehow, I knew that wasn't going to open. Plus, no joke should be that cruel.

Hicks did make me leave my room for evening chow, even though I wasn't hungry. Without Hudson and Spunkmeyer, the table was too quiet.

Throughout the rest of the night, I felt like someone had reached into my body and ripped out my heart. Before lights-out, I glanced in Hudson's room. It was dark and, strangely enough, the bed was made. Hudson never makes his bed. A lot of his stuff was still there, though. That was the only clue I had that he was coming back.

When I returned to my room to try and sleep, I found a folded slip of paper tucked under the clock on my nightstand. Opening it, I discovered it was a really short note from Hudson.

"_Hey, Drake, I'm sorry you weren't there to say goodbye. I wanted to wait till you got back from seeing Paulson's son, but Hardy had managed to get an earlier flight to Virginia, so we're heading out now. My ass is still sore from that big needle, man. Just remember all we've talked about. Don't lose hope, buddy. I'll give you a big ol' hug when I get back, which will be soon, I promise. I won't fuck up. You're my best friend and I don't think you'd let me fuck up. Oh, and tell Miranda I'm sorry, too. Give my goodbye to her, and tell her I love her more than anything else in the world. - Hudson_."

I kept telling myself that he'd be back soon, but it didn't stop the feeling that the next six weeks were going to drag.

Before going to bed, I heard the faint sound of someone sobbing. It sounded female, so I first checked Vasquez's room. All quiet. The sobbing was coming from Ferro's room. I knocked, saying, "Everything OK?"

I didn't get a response, so I quietly slid open the door, seeing Ferro lying in bed, covering her face with a pillow. Closing the door, I sat near her.

"What do you want?" Ferro asked.

"I heard you crying, so I came to see if you were OK," I replied.

"Well, I'm not. I wish Spunkmeyer was here." She glared at me. "It's your fault he's in the brig anyway! It was your stupid idea in order to go through Hicks's private belongings!"

"Woah, woah, woah, now, who the fuck told you about that?"

"'Ski."

"Really? Of all people, Wierzbowski's the one who said something? Not Hudson?"

"Nope, not Hudson."

I sighed. "Look, I'm already regretting . . . my whole plan for Hicks. Not the part over Paulson's son, though, because he's a really good guy. Just . . . I should've found another way instead of going through Hicks's stuff. That was wrong. And it got Spunkmeyer in trouble. How long is he gonna be in the brig?"

"Three weeks. He's barred from the powerloader for a month, and he's gotta pay for damages." Ferro adjusted her T-shirt before leaning against her pillow to look at me.

"Well, like I said, I'm really sorry about all this. If there was a way for me to make it up to you, tell me. I'll do it."

Ferro didn't respond at first. "You know what's funny? This is kinda what I thought we'd be doing if we were ever a couple."

I snorted. "We're on your bed, in our sleepwear . . . yeah, this is what couples do. I should probably go get a shirt to make this less weird."

"No, stay. Trust me, this isn't awkward at all."

"It's not?"

"No."

I shrugged. "Alright." I lay on my side. "So, what do you want me to do to make up for this mess?"

"First, you need to be honest with Hicks about what happened."

"What about the surprise?"

"No one cares anymore. You did something wrong. You need to own up for it. You'll get in less trouble if you come clean."

"Fine. I'll tell him tomorrow. Is that it?"

"No." Ferro looked a little sad again, and opened her arms for a hug.

She did it for me, so I saw no reason why I shouldn't do it for her. I hugged her, not as tight I do Vasquez, but tight enough to let Ferro know I cared. "You do understand I'm really sorry about Spunkmeyer, right?" I whispered.

"I forgive you," Ferro replied. "You're going through a hard time with Hudson, so I can't stay mad at you. And I did promise I'd be there for you when you needed someone while Hudson was gone. None of us were expecting him to leave today, so . . . you're not alone in your shock."

I smirked. "That's not a good reason to forgive me. Not after I violated Hicks's space and got your boyfriend in a shit-load of trouble." That smirk turned into a more genuine smile. "Thanks for forgiving me, though."

A long time ago, I wouldn't have accepted her forgiveness. There's a still a small part of me that thinks I don't deserve it, but a much greater part of me just wanted to accept it and move on.

* * *

I felt fine up until I realized Hudson wasn't joining us for breakfast. After that, I didn't feel like eating anymore. I still forced myself to have something, and when everyone was dismissed afterwards, I approached Hicks, feeling really sick with anxiety over what I was about to do.

"Do you need something?" Hicks asked when he noticed I was following him.

"I need to tell you something," I said. "Two days ago, when Spunkmeyer had his little fit in the loading bay . . . I told him to do that."

"Why?"

I swallowed. "I needed you distracted so I could get something from your room."

Hicks turned to face me, folding his arms over his chest. "Was it something you could've easily asked me for?"

"Depends. It was about your birthday."

Hicks bit his lip. "Really? What could you possibly be planning that requires you to steal from me?"

"I didn't steal it. I wrote it down in one of my notebooks. It . . . I-I-"

"What did you take?"

"Vince Paulson's address."

Hicks took a breath, rocking on his heels while thinking.

"Wierzbowski told me that you mentioned wanting to reconnect with Paulson's family-"

"And I said I was still thinking about it. I never said I was ready." Hicks rubbed his face. "Did you already talk to Vince? Please tell me you didn't-"

"I did."

"Fuck."

"I really don't understand the problem. He told me he wouldn't mind seeing you again."

"I'm not ready. I'm not explaining it to you, because you should understand that better than anyone. This is the second time you've went behind my back, Drake. Why? What possessed you to think this was a good idea?"

"You said you wanted to because you thought it would help you heal. You can't keep hiding from things that remind you of your past-"

"How about I shove you in a room full of silver flowers, then? You're hiding from your past!"

"That's different! Vince never hurt you!"

"Forget it. I'm not meeting up with him on my birthday. You can go tell him he's not welcome here."

"No."

"You can't tell me 'no,' Drake."

"In this case, I can. You didn't stop talking to Vince because of him. You stopped talking to him because of you. Does it help that he doesn't blame you? He had about as hard a time as you did dealing with his dad's suicide. Hell, it was his own father that died. He's hurting a lot more. You have all us. Right now, he's got nobody. No one else in the Marines kept in contact with him. Absolutely no one."

Hicks fell silent. He still looked like he wanted to brush this off, ignore it, and dismiss it. Then he hung his head, before looking at me with tears in his eyes. "I just don't know right now, Drake. Let me think about it."

* * *

I decided to go see Vince again later that afternoon. At least this time around, he didn't give me a confused look when he answered the door. "Hey, Drake. Didn't expect to see you back so soon. Everything OK?" Vince closed the door behind me.

"Well, I got some news . . . regarding Hicks," I said. "He . . . I . . . I ended up having to tell him about the surprise, and it's my fault because . . . I only found out where you live by . . . going through his things."

"Didn't you do the same thing with his medical records?" Vince gave me a look, but it wasn't anger. I think a small smile was on his face, like I was a naughty pet or something.

"It was stupid and I feel terrible. Look, I told Hicks what my plan was, and . . . he's more angry at the fact that I want you guys to meet up again."

The smile faded. "Why?"

"I don't know. Something about how he's not ready. I even told him some of the stuff you told me, about how you've got no one right now-"

"Drake, if he doesn't want to talk to me, that's fine." Vince walked into the kitchen, and opened the fridge to take out a beer can.

I suddenly got the feeling I wasn't welcome anymore, so I turned to leave.

"Where're you going?"

"You look like you want me out."

"That ain't true. Come here." Vince waited until I was in the doorway of the kitchen, then said, "Drake, if I wanted you out, I would've told you. I didn't tell you, so you can stay if you want to, OK?"

Nodding, I gave a quiet sigh. "I failed with this, didn't I?"

"What makes you say that?" Vince gestured for me to sit on the couch.

"Nothing went right. I made a horrible decision. All for what?"

"Your heart's in the right place, but you let that overtake your head. It happens." Vince sat next to me. "'All for what.' This isn't a total loss for you. Did you at least apologize to Dwayne?"

I nodded. "I told him I shouldn't have done it."

"You did the right thing by apologizing and being honest. A surprise isn't worth your trust and friendship with each other."

"What about you, though?"

"Me?" Vince paused, then looked away from me, sighing a little and staring into space. "What about me?"

"Don't . . . you still want to reconnect with Hicks in some way?"

"According to you, he doesn't want it. Like I said, that's fine. I've gotten used to not having anyone talk to me regularly. Some days go by where I don't speak a word, even to myself. No need to worry. Either you succumb to loneliness, or you embrace it."

"I still think you should try. Hicks never said 'no,' but he did say, 'I don't know.' Look, for now . . . my plan is to take him to a restaurant in Crystal City. Just come as you are."

Vince rubbed his face, sighing again. "I'm just gonna pray hard for the next three days that this doesn't end in a disaster, Drake."

* * *

_Question: What is another way Drake could have gone about surprising Hicks? Should he even have bothered given Hicks's reaction to what the surprise is?_


	12. Chapter 12

I decided to stay a little longer with Vince, simply because I enjoy his company. Given Hicks's response to my surprise earlier, I wondered if this was akin to cheating on a girlfriend (I wouldn't know, because I've never cheated on Vasquez-Miranda doesn't count because I was faking it). Regardless, Vince is fun to talk to, and I think this was the first time we both got to experience the simple act of just having a friend over for a beer and good conversation.

He could fill a book of his experiences on fishing boats. No matter what ship he's on, the crew treats him with the utmost respect, because he's the guy that makes sure they can get home safely, but he's had a few times where someone gave him crap because he didn't do any dirty work. In reality, Vince faced the same freezing, salty winds and unsteadiness of the boat as everyone else. His first job was a real nightmare; he didn't eat for almost a week because of seasickness, and he considered quitting, but he continued regardless.

I've been on water, but never in the conditions Vince described. I think I'd be really seasick, too. Vince is used to all that, now, and getting sick out in the ocean is a thing of the past. He looks back on it with laughs, but I can't smile at my past, even if I tried. Might be a while. A long while.

It was getting close to curfew when I left. Vince was grateful to finally have someone to talk to, and we both agreed that we could still hang out together, even if Hicks's birthday doesn't go over well. We didn't discuss it, but I think it had something to do with him not comparing me to Hicks, and me not comparing him to his father.

I returned to base expecting to hear Hudson laughing in the lounge. Being greeted with silence was honestly painful, and unreal.

By now, he was probably in Virginia, and I hoped he was doing OK. I hoped he wasn't too miserable.

When no one was out in the hall, I snuck down to Vasquez's room. She looked like she was already sleeping, but I closed the door and lay next to her anyway. Almost as soon as I was on the bed, she turned her head to face me. "What do you want?" she whispered.

"Just some company, that's all," I replied, hugging her.

"Missing Hudson?"

"Yeah. Didn't feel right walking in and not hearing him."

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Sure."

"I miss him, too." Vasquez moved onto her side to hug me. "It's been too quiet without him."

"Been quiet without Spunkmeyer, too."

"That was your fault."

"I know." I kissed Vasquez's forehead. "I'm sorry."

She threw a spare blanket over me, not bothering to pull back the covers to let me in, and snuggled close to my chest. After that, it didn't take much time for me to drift off to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

In the morning, I was ordered down to Apone's office after breakfast. Any other day, Spunkmeyer would be asking if I was in trouble, but I imagine he was bitching about the flavorless oatmeal being served down the brig right now.

I expected Hicks to be in the office, too, but it was just me and Apone, who closed the door after I walked in. He sat behind his desk, gestured for me to take a seat, and then gave me a look while lighting a cigar. "Hicks told me about the big stunt you pulled a few days ago."

_Oh, shit. I'm gonna get put in the brig, too!_ "It was a stupid decision, sir," I said, looking down at my lap.

"It was, but I know you and I know you didn't do it with malicious intent. I got one question, though; why didn't you just ask somebody for Vince's information?"

"Hicks was the only one with that information."

Apone shook his head. "That's not true. I knew Paulson almost as well as Hicks did. Not so much his son, but I do know people who know Vince pretty well." He shrugged. "All you had to do was ask, Drake."

"I kinda thought you'd assume this was a bad idea, too."

"You'd never know unless you ask. You would've never gotten Spunkmeyer in trouble if you just asked."

I continued looking down at my lap. "Was contacting Vince a bad idea?"

"No. Your means of getting his information was a bad idea, but contacting him was not."

"Hicks got upset when I told him, though."

"I know. Hicks is still running from his past. He's been running a lot harder than you have, and he hasn't stopped."

"Then why would he say that he considered contacting Vince again?"

"He must've been in a better mood. I don't want to force him to do anything, but if no one does anything, he's just going to keep running. He needs to accept it. He can't keep running, and if he keeps falling back into his bipolar, his contract is going out the window."

I swallowed. "What does that . . . mean?"

"We can't treat a mental illness forever, especially if there's no improvement."

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. "This is my fault. I kicked it back in his face when I went through his records-"

"Drake, stop. I didn't say we're kicking Hicks out. Didn't say that at all. I'm saying that getting Hicks to confront his past will help."

"You're sure?"

"I've known him a lot longer than you have, and I want to see him get better just as much as you do. Trust me, I don't want to let him go. I've never worked with a better corporal in my whole career. You're dismissed, Drake."

I stood up, still feeling weak over the knowledge that Hicks could be removed if his condition doesn't improve.

"Oh, and Drake?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Next time you got a boneheaded scheme up your sleeve, ask me if it's a good idea first. That's what I'm here for, son."

* * *

With Apone's blessing, I set about making reservations at a restaurant for Hicks's birthday. A part of me wondered if it would be a bad idea to go to a public place, simply because Hicks might have a bad reaction. Then again, I decided to be more optimistic. Maybe Hicks knowing what I did would be helpful. Maybe he'd mellow out and give Vince another chance. I hoped that would be the case.

In the days leading up to Hicks's birthday, nothing much happened. I wanted to know how Hudson was doing, and Apone told me that I still had a few more days before I might see a letter.

Hicks was quiet last night, and he wasn't telling us things like, "Don't bother doing anything for tomorrow." This morning, he woke up to a bunch of cards on his spot at the breakfast table. He set his tray down, and went through opening each card, smiling a little at each one.

I took his smiling as a good sign, but I also knew Hudson would be trying to give him "birthday noogies." Hell, I could name a hundred things Hudson would be doing right now, and my heart grew heavier with each thought.

Shortly before I got ready to take Hicks for dinner and drinks, I heard him in Apone's office, talking about my "surprise." To put it simply, Apone was telling Hicks not to be rude to Vince, and it sounded like Hicks was going to be cooperative.

I was still worried. It was moments like this where I'd turn to Hudson, but I couldn't. I know he'd tell me not to worry and to let things play out, because if anything bad did happen, it wouldn't be my fault. Besides, this wouldn't jeopardize my friendship with Vince.

I had this coordinated so Vince would show up around fifteen minutes after Hicks and I arrived at the restaurant. Much to my surprise, Paige Carlisle joined us when we got there, and almost instantly, I felt like a third wheel. So I ordered my whiskey long before a waiter came around asking what we wanted to drink.

Letting Hicks and Carlisle talk, I kept glancing at my watch. From the corner of my eye, I saw Hicks looking around as well, and then he sighed before looking at me. "Alright, where is he, Drake?"

I took a sip of my drink. "He should be here . . . any minute."

"Where's who?" Carlisle asked.

"Vince Paulson," Hicks replied. "Drake invited him so we could . . . reconnect, I guess."

"That might do you some good," Carlisle said. "How long has it been since you last talked?"

"Six years." Hicks took a breath. "I'm not completely sure I'm looking forward to it."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Carlisle patted his shoulder. "Just remember to be nice, OK?"

Hicks nodded. "I know." He looked down at his drink, then looked up when someone walked into the restaurant.

I glanced over my shoulder to see Vince strolling in. Despite it being comfortably warm, he was still wearing a heavy knit sweater, and he looked really out of place. He looked in our direction, and simply said, "Hey, Dwayne."

Part of me wondered if Hicks would run off and hide in the bathroom (wait, that's me), but that was dispelled when he slowly stood up and approached Vince. He had a look in his eyes that told me he wasn't sure what emotion to feel at that time, and I would later learn that he was fighting hard to not announce to the world that he wasn't ready.

He really was ready, and he knew it. I saw the tears run down his face right before he grabbed Vince in a tight hug I've never seen Hicks give before. I think he knew, deep down, that Paulson wouldn't want them disconnected, because they were both his sons.

Hicks, despite being a Marine, is really scrawny compared to Vince, and Vince isn't a "big guy" in the sense that Wierzbowski is-Wierzbowski is tall and decently built, enough to make you nervous if you don't know he's really a sweetheart. Vince is tall (probably an inch shorter than Wierzbowski), but he's not muscular. I mean, he's not fat, but he has a barely noticeable beer gut. I'm just saying, he's still falls under the category of "big guy" when standing with Hicks, he looks like he'd crush his spine with a hug. Hicks needs a big squeeze, though, and Vince was patting his back and tousling his hair, like he was his little brother.

Vince grinned at Hicks, in a manner not unlike Hudson. "Haven't seen you or talked to you in six years. Where've you been? I've missed you."

"I'll be honest, I don't know." Hicks was struggling to smile through his tears. "I . . . guess I haven't realized how much I missed you till I saw you." He looked at the floor, unable to put his thoughts into words. "Well . . . have a seat, I guess."

Vince squeezed into the booth next to me. "Drake, how's it going?"

"I'm just relieved Hicks didn't try to punt you out the door," I said.

"'Punt me out the door.'" Vince laughed. "He couldn't do that if he tried!"

Hicks smirked. "In case you forgot, I did play football, and I was a kicker."

"That's a tiny ball, though!"

The two were laughing and talking like old friends. Hicks introduced Carlisle, essentially pulling her into the conversation, and leaving me out almost entirely. I figured I should leave, but Vince was in my way, and I didn't feel like asking him to get up.

The laughing did subside when the conversation turned to Paulson, but Hicks didn't react like he normally would. I think it helped that he was having this conversation with someone who also knew the man personally. There were some laughs at fond memories, but then the conversation turned serious again.

I can't remember what brought it up, but things got interesting when Paulson's will was mentioned.

"I know he had a finance will-we all had to make one in boot camp-and all the funeral expenses were given to Julia, right?"

"Every cent," Vince replied. "In the months after he died, some people were wondering if he had a personal will. Everyone assumed that his medals, ribbons, and field armor belonged to Mom, no questions asked. After Russell got promoted to general and took Dad's place in command, he set about cleaning out Dad's office and sending files of everything considered non-classified to Mom. Well, Dad kept a vault in his office to protect classified documents . . . as well as his private will. Why he didn't keep it at home or tell us about it, I don't know. All we know is that it wasn't dated, but changes were made, and the changes had to have been made between August of 2167 and December of 2170, because they mentioned you."

Hicks blinked. "I was in his will?"

Vince nodded. "Dad's armor and sidearm were originally going to be given to me, but I guess he felt like you'd value it more. I mean, I'd value it for sure, but even I feel like they'd mean more to you. Hell, I travel a lot, and I don't have the space to properly store his old gear."

"Hang on, if . . . if this will was discovered a few months after Paulson's death, how come no one said anything to me about that armor?"

Vince bit his lip. "To tell you the truth, I don't know. That will-and all of Dad's stuff-had been given to Mom. Why she didn't tell you, I don't know."

Sighing, Hicks rubbed his face. "I . . . can't believe she'd hide something like from me. How come you didn't say anything?"

"I was in as rough a mental shape as you were. I didn't even remember that till just now."

Hicks fell silent, remaining deep in thought. He didn't even want the free slice of birthday cake from the restaurant, and gave it to me (probably because Hudson wasn't there). I gladly took it.

Plans were made for Hicks and Vince to go to Julia Paulson's home in a few days to talk about the armor. Carlisle headed back to her unit after giving Hicks a kiss, and we all took that as a cue we had to part ways for the night.

Having been used to bland, crappy rations, everything at the restaurant was a bit too rich for my system, and I was standing on the Metro platform, holding my stomach, while Hicks and Vince hugged each other and shook hands. I figured I was going to be ignored for the rest of the night, but Vince came over to me. His arms were open until he saw the pained look on my face and my right arm over my belly.

"You doing OK, Drake?" Vince asked.

A part of me kinda wanted to lash out over being ignored, and because I was in pain, but, I didn't. "No."

"Well, I'm sorry for not talking to you more tonight. You're the whole reason this happened, after all, and I owe you a thank-you." Vince offered me a smile. "I know that's not gonna help your upset stomach, but I'd rather say it now."

Hicks smirked. "Maybe it's a good thing I didn't have that cake."

I got a hug from Vince, and then he boarded the train to head home, leaving Hicks and I waiting for the next one to get back to base. I was really trying to not look like I was in pain as we rode to our stop. Hicks gave me a more sympathetic look, and said, "It's probably gas." A small grin crossed his face. "Hudson would've just let it rip right here, and the whole train would clear out instantly at the next stop."

I didn't respond.

The grin faded. "Look, I really did try to make sure Hudson stayed. You're not . . . still mad about that, are you?"

I shook my head.

"Good." Hicks sighed. "Paulson probably wouldn't have made Hudson go, that's for sure. He'd find a way to get him promoted."

"Didn't he write a ton of shit on Hudson?" I asked.

"No. His disciplinary reports back then were accurate. He . . . He would've seen Hudson change, though, and he would've seen the relationship you have with each other."

"Ranelli told me this experience will be good for both me and Hudson because we need to not be so emotionally dependent on each other."

"In a way, he's right. I think you guys might learn that over time, but, Paulson wasn't a psychologist and probably wouldn't have known that."

The rest of the ride was quiet. When we entered the base gates, Hicks patted my shoulder. "Want me to let Dietrich know what's going on?"

"No. She'll get mad at me."

"I don't think she'll be mad, but I won't say anything if you don't want me to. Get some rest. You drank quite a bit, too, and that might be contributing. Don't be surprised if you feel a little like crap tomorrow morning."

"Are you still upset over me going through your stuff?"

"Yeah, but I think everyone was right when they said meeting up with Vince would be good for me. I'm glad to have reconnected with him. Plus . . . I wanna know why I never got Paulson's armor." Hicks looked up at the night sky. "I just hope it's a big misunderstanding, and I can go back to being family friend." He sighed before pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "Go on inside. I'll be out here for a few minutes."

It was still strange to walk into the base and not hear Hudson, and I hoped I'd get used to that soon, because it hurt every time I came to the realization that he wasn't there. Even though it was probably just a case of eating and drinking too much, I didn't want to sit through my pain alone. No matter what, Hudson would stay up all night with me if I didn't feel good, and I did the same for him.

Then again, it was when I wasn't feeling good that this whole debacle of him leaving started, all because Hardy caught us both up at an ungodly hour.

A part of me felt like I deserved to suffer through this because of that, but I guess Hicks said something to Wierzbowski, because he knocked on my door just as I was laying down to try to sleep.

"Hey, I was told you're not feeling too good," Wierzbowski said after closing the door. "Thought you might want some company."

"Thanks," I replied.

"If it wasn't so damn close to curfew, I'd get you some tea."

"Honestly, tea from the mess hall would probably make me feel worse."

"I meant, I'd get you tea from a café or something."

"Well, Ranelli has every tea under the sun, but he's likely turned in by now. And you can't leave this hallway."

Wierzbowski nodded, and was quiet as he tried to search for something to talk about. "I think tomorrow, we might get something from Hudson. If he wrote to us. That training thing isn't like boot camp; he likely had a lot of time during the day to write. I just hope he remembered."

"I should've talked to Miranda today," I sighed. "She misses him more than any of us."

"Yeah, poor girl. You can always talk to her tomorrow."

"That reminds me, how's Eliza doing with her hip?"

"Better each day. I'm still a nervous wreck each time I think about it, though. I guess that's because I'm not with her right now." Wierzbowski flushed red. "You haven't said anything to anyone about how I actually slept with her, have you?"

"Nope. That remains between us. And Hudson."

"Why'd you tell him?"

"Because he's the best secret-keeper in the whole base. You know that."

"Fine. As long as you just told him, and nobody else."

* * *

_Question: How might things be different if Hicks had remained in contact with Vince instead of cutting himself off after Paulson's death?_


	13. Chapter 13

My dreams were all over the place that night. My dreams are usually all over the place, but tonight it just seemed worse than normal. I imagine it was the combination of my PTSD, missing Hudson, my stomach feeling awful, and my brain lumping the day's events into a pile of crap to throw into the oatmeal it considers dreams.

I could hear Hudson screaming. I was running down a hallway, trying to figure out what room he was in. When I found him, he was in a very dusty room, full of old equipment. What use it was, I'll never know. Hudson was lying on the floor, his face covered in a slimy, silver fluid. He looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep in God-knows-how-long; his eyes were bloodshot and gritty. He hadn't showered in awhile, either.

That silver fluid was coming out of his mouth. He grabbed my arms, trying to say something, but more fluid came out instead of a sound. He began twitching and convulsing, and I tried to lift him up to get him out of here and into a hospital. That was when he screamed. I was hurting him when I lifted him.

What should I do? I can't do anything.

I couldn't help him. So I pulled my sidearm from its holster, and put a round through my skull.

Sitting upright in bed, I felt the contents of my stomach move uncomfortably-and upward. Scrambling out of bed, I stumbled toward the bathroom, not bothering to turn on any lights as I fell in front of the toilet. I could see that I really didn't make good choices while I was out with Hicks. A lot of it had to do with the fact that I was bored and no one talked to me. I ate heavily, and drank a lot. And I had Hicks's piece of cake. I shouldn't have.

I was angry with myself. I wasn't just angry, though, but I couldn't pinpoint what else I was feeling.

When I finished throwing up, I didn't flush it right away. I felt weak, and the muscles in my abdomen were throbbing. I had just enough energy to cry, though.

Right now was when I missed Hudson the most. It was almost one in the morning, I was feeling awful, and I was alone. I expected Hudson to come in at any moment to ask what was going on, and if I was OK. He'd stay the whole night, talking to me and doing whatever he could to make me smile. Mainly, I just wanted to feel his hand on my shoulder and hear him say, "I've been down _this_ road many times, man. You should feel better now that you puked. Trust me."

Then again, Hudson would've gladly taken the cake Hicks didn't want, and he'd feel fine. If he were still on base, I probably would've told Hicks to have the cake wrapped and bring it to Hudson if he didn't come along to the restaurant. None of this would've happened, and I'd be sleeping peacefully.

I heard a soft knock at the door, and I groaned, "Come in."

Ferro quietly closed the door behind her when she walked in, and peered into the bathroom. She turned the lights on to reveal me kneeling in front of the toilet, which had been filled with vomit. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked.

"No," I said. "Just my Goddamn stupidity."

"What happened? Did . . . everything go OK with Hicks?"

"Everything went fine. It's me who fucked up. Once he got chatting with Vince, that was it. They talked, they ignored me, so all I could really do was fucking gorge myself and drink all the whiskey I wanted." I sighed, rubbing my face. "I probably deserved this."

Ferro moved me away from the toilet so she could close the lid and flush the vomit. "Why do you think you deserve this?"

"I hadn't been feeling good the night Hardy caught Hudson in my room. If I wasn't shitting my guts out, Hudson wouldn't be in here, seeing if I'm OK, and Hardy would've left him alone. It's my fault he's gone."

"They were considering this for Hudson long before you were even a Marine, Drake. You had nothing to do with that. Look, you ate and drank too much, and you got sick. It happens. It's not fun. But, you didn't do anything to deserve it. No one deserves this." Ferro patted my arm. "Get up, brush your teeth, get back in bed, and we'll talk, OK?"

After cleaning myself up, I made my way back to bed, and Ferro dragged a chair over. She drew her legs up, and wrapped herself up in a blanket, watching me prop up my pillows. "How come you're up at this hour?" I asked.

"Couldn't sleep. Couldn't even try. I heard you retching and wanted to know if everything was OK, especially since I kinda feel like crap, too."

"Like, sick, or-"

"My period started."

"Ah. If you need some ibuprofen, I have some in my medicine cabinet."

"Thanks, but I don't need it right now. I just want someone who . . . understands, I guess."

"I deal with this with Vasquez all the time. I'm no stranger to it."

Ferro nodded. "I knew you'd understand." She sighed a little. "Even when we weren't dating, Spunkmeyer knew. He figured out my cycle and when I became a little irritable and moody. He'd become very sweet and brought me things he knew I wanted."

"You wish he was here to keep you company and make you feel better."

"Yeah." Ferro grabbed a tissue from the box on my nightstand, and covered her face. "Jesus Christ, Drake, I miss him."

"He's got two more weeks in the brig, right?"

"I won't make it that long!"

I gestured for her to get on the bed so I could hug her. "You'll be OK, Ferro. He'll be back before you know it."

* * *

I did feel somewhat better in the morning, but that didn't mean I enjoyed the hangover. Still, I'd rather deal with just the hangover than the hangover plus all the nausea.

For the first time ever, I actually didn't mind the blandness of breakfast, but I really didn't want my body used to it. I do know there are some Marines who haven't had real food since enlisting. I can't imagine what their transition to civilian life was like, not being able to enjoy some chicken or pasta without feeling sick afterwards. That's just a rude "welcome home."

After breakfast, we all headed down to the mail room for our weekly deliveries. Crowe handed off Hudson's mail to Apone, who set it aside for Hudson when he comes back, and then he handed two envelopes to me.

One was from Georgia. The other was from Virginia. I felt a surge of happiness in my chest, something I haven't felt in a long, long time. I was almost shaking as I sat down, and promptly opened the letter from Georgia.

You generally don't expect ten-year-olds to have nice handwriting. Casey still has some work to do, but his handwriting was a lot better than I expected it to be. I also had the feeling that he did this completely on his own, with no adult assistance. We've gotten "letters" from elementary school kids in the past, usually around the holidays. It's a sweet gesture, but they were all the same. When you don't have a home anymore, and don't get gifts or cards from anyone else, it looks and feels sad to have a chunk of glitter sent to you by a stranger. Truthfully, it doesn't make me feel appreciated. A lot of the guys think it's cute. I don't. These kids don't know us, or what we're actually going through, individually. They think they're doing something nice. All it does is make me feel more depressed.

Casey's letter read like he thought about everything for himself. There was none of the stiff and meaningless crap I've seen in letters from children before, the stuff that adults tell them to include.

"_Hey, Drake, hope everything's going OK with you. I'm really glad you like the pictures, and tell Hudson I say 'hi' back.  
_

"_You're the only person who's said I'll make a good Marine and smartgunner. I made a mistake trying to talk about you on the playground. A couple of kids don't believe I stayed with Marines after the hurricane. Many of them got stuck in the gym. They think I'm making stuff up to make it sound like I'm better or more special. I don't feel like talking about you no more to anybody. Even Ma and Dad said I shouldn't because all it does is make the other kids make fun of me. Yesterday, they said they weren't gonna let me write to you anymore. They said I need to move past what happened and leave you alone because you're busy.  
_

"_I hope you're not mad I'm breaking that rule. I don't like breaking rules, but I still want to keep talking to you. I got the feeling you get what I say, and you didn't treat me like a little kid. I walked home by myself so I could deliver this letter in secret. Trying to figure out a system where we can still talk and nobody has to know but me and you.  
_

"_Miss you lots, Drake. - Casey._"

I was actually heartbroken, even more so over the fact that I couldn't go to him right now. The most I could do was write him back, tell him I was sorry. I felt so powerless, it was painful.

The next letter was from Hudson, which made me a little happier.

"_I will say that this is not as bad as boot camp, but I didn't get to sit down till about six o'clock in the evening. I'm wiped, but I'm going to get started writing anyway. I can't send this out till Friday, so I'll break this up day-by-day. Hardy ended up dumping me at the airport with my papers and leaving because he had to report back to Russell. I'll be honest, going back to basic was a little terrifying. I was put on the same flight as a group of recruits, and the only thing I was told was to look for a Lieutenant Wixyn._

"_Wixyn was in the room designated for service members. He didn't say much of anything. I was the only person he was waiting for, so he walked me out of the airport and drove me to the facility in a big van. Again, he was quiet. Seemed focused on whatever he was doing, but he wasn't mean or anything. We get to the facility and he takes me to the barracks I'll be sleeping in. It's one of those large barracks they usually save for separations. They got TVs and books and stuff like that. There's only ten other Marines in here, and it's real quiet most of the time.  
_

"_After I got my bunk, I was driven out to the processing building-you know, where you get your clothes and uniforms and get yelled at on your very first night. It's exactly how I remember it; hot, stuffy, and nerve-wracking. Wixyn was great, though. All the DIs were polite to him and didn't say a damn thing to me. We went up to that little room where you filled out all your paperwork that first day. All Wixyn needed me to do was fill out a questionnaire about why I was here, plus some medical documents. I was worried I was gonna be stuck in sick bay because of my injury, but he said he'd just fax the corpsmen everything Dietrich filled out. I like this guy.  
_

"_When we left the processing building, I was starving, but we had to go all the way back to the barracks, line up, and walk down to the mess hall. There were people from separations at the other side, and we're not allowed to talk. I kinda had a hard time remembering that, so I ended up getting yelled at. I also found out (the hard way) that guys in the promotion training aren't allowed sweets of any kind for the first three weeks, so I ended up getting shamed for taking a cookie when we got back to the barracks. So, yeah, this first day wasn't a good one, man.  
_

"_Thursday - The last two days have been full of nothing but drills and dumb exercises to test our discipline. Most of these were outside, and in the sun. Wixyn and a couple of sergeants said they didn't want us 'sitting around' for most of the day, so they started making shit up for us to do. That's how it was yesterday and today, but today wasn't a good day for me. At breakfast, they told us to eat a lot of salt because we'd be outside all day (again), and they weren't providing electrolyte drinks. That's pretty much all I've been eating-salt and water. Sometime before lunch, I began feeling real dizzy and lethargic, and then passed out in the grass. I really wasn't surprised when a corpsman looked at me and said my blood sugar was low. He was a nice guy and had me sit in the chaplain's office for an hour or two with a milkshake to nurse. I felt a whole lot better afterwards.  
_

"_Friday - I guess yesterday prompted Wixyn to have us take it easy for today. We did some written tests on leadership in a big hall and then we went back to the barracks. I was a little afraid Wixyn was gonna drill us again, but instead, he had us sit on the floor in front of him and we talked. It started off as discussing what to do in certain scenarios, and then we actually started getting to know each other. He's definitely not a bad guy, and he talked to us each individually. When he got to me, he asked if I was feeling better and why I elected to be sent back to my squad. I was honest, and I told him about you. I showed him pictures that I had stowed away in one of my drawers. He commented that we look like the best of friends, and then walked away. The mail guy comes in about ten minutes, so I'll wrap this up and let you go. I miss you, I miss Wierzbowski, I miss all of you. I really miss Miranda. Stay strong, Drake. Yours, Hudson._"

A weight had lifted off my shoulders. I was just glad Hudson was OK. He didn't sound depressed or overly miserable. I felt like I could rest easy now.

I folded up my two letters and brought them to my room, where I stashed them away with my journals. I then grabbed my swimsuit and headed down to the pool to relax and try to think about a solution for Casey. As I left the men's locker room, I saw Ferro sitting at the of the pool, dangling her feet in. _Oh, yeah, she can't go in for the week. I'll keep her company. _I smiled as I walked past her, and climbed down a ladder into the water. "Hey. Feeling a little better?"

Ferro nodded.

"Did you get some sleep after leaving me?"

"Little bit."

She looked like she was only half-paying attention to me. I studied her face for a second before saying, "Want me to leave you alone?"

"No," Ferro sighed. "I think you're the only person I want around right now."

"Uh-oh, that mood." I laughed. "It's OK. I'll . . . hang around as long as you want me to." I turned to start swimming the length of the pool, but then I stopped, looking back at Ferro. I hated seeing her so upset and lonely, and I knew damn well it was my fault. Resting my arms on the side of the pool, I gave a sigh, saying, "Are you sure there's nothing I can do to make you feel better? I know it's . . . my fault Spunkmeyer's in the brig, and I feel awful."

"Honestly, Drake, there's nothing you can do. I'm sorry."

"What if I take you for-"

"No."

"You didn't even let me finish."

"I don't want to go anywhere. Sorry."

"OK. That's all you had to say." I pulled myself out of the pool to sit next to Ferro.

"You're all wet, don't hug me right now."

"Holy shit, you kinda sounded like Vasquez."

Ferro looked torn over whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Based on my experience with Vasquez, the crying is usually favored, for some reason.

I dried myself off with a towel before putting my arm around Ferro. She didn't say or do anything as I hugged her, and then she hugged me back. "Thanks, Drake."

"Well, gee, a minute ago, you didn't want anything." I smirked, patting her shoulder. "Now, I'll ask again, are you sure you don't want me to take you for ice cream?"

Ferro bit her lip. "I want lots of caramel."

"I'll make sure you get lots of caramel."

To be honest, I figured I didn't have to worry about Casey right now. I at least got a letter from him, and a long one from Hudson, and I spent a few hours with Ferro, enjoying ice cream. Again. Today was a decent day, and I told myself I needed to be grateful for these little things.

I thought that's how the rest of the day would go until Hicks returned in the afternoon with Vince. Hicks looked pissed about something, and I felt something drop into the pit of my stomach that everything was going to go back to the way they were.

* * *

_Question: How do you think both Spunkmeyer and Vasquez feel about their significant others spending so much time with each other?_


	14. Chapter 14

Hicks disappeared into Apone's office, leaving Vince out in the hallway. I walked over to him, a confused look on my face. "So . . . what happened?" I asked.

"I'll talk to you in private. Need a fucking drink," Vince muttered.

I didn't like the sound of that, but the two of us left base and went out to a small bar anyway. It took awhile for Vince to actually say something to me. He was looking down at his mug the whole time. Eventually, he looked at me, and sighed. "Went to Mom's to talk about the armor and will. I thought, and hoped, that she'd admit she made a mistake and would give Dwayne what's rightfully his. That . . . didn't happen. She said she wasn't giving anyone Dad's armor or any of his stuff. Didn't even want to give it to me. Honestly, I wasn't expecting things to . . . get outta hand. I mean, Dwayne wasn't mean, but he was . . . he was definitely upset that no one said anything to him for five years."

"He's spoken highly about Paulson's widow in the past," I said. "Why would she hide this, though?"

"I have no idea. She didn't tell us why. She just said the will was wrong and she's keeping all of Dad's belongings."

"The will was in his office safe, though, and Russell gave it to her."

"Like I said, I just don't know. The fact that she won't tell me, or trust me is . . ." Vince trailed off, rubbing his face. "Just can't believe we're falling apart. I don't get it. Why? We loved and trusted each other our whole lives. I'm her son, for God's sake. It's like . . . I became a stranger."

"Your dad kinda held you all together, I guess. Look, I don't fully know what life was like for you, but it . . . it sounds like his passing hit you all hard, and . . . shit happens. My family was nowhere near as tight-knit as yours. If someone died, we'd only go to a funeral if schedules allowed it. Even if schedules were open, sometimes, we didn't go. I didn't know anyone who passed away. We didn't go to a lot of gatherings. If we did, I'd hide somewhere, because . . ." I shrugged, "all anyone would talk about was what I don't do. People who didn't even get to know me, personally, had this notion that I was an embarrassment. For a long time, I sure believed I was." I sighed. "Still do, in a way."

"You're right. Shit does happen." Vince glanced at me. "Geez, Dad would've taken you in. He always had this way of making people feel good about themselves, even if they were having a rough day." He stopped, looking down at the table again. "I dunno. I told you a lot before, but since . . . since things are starting to come apart, I should tell you more. I feel alone right now. Am I happy I reconnected with Dwayne? Absolutely, but he's so pissed right now that he doesn't want to listen to anybody else. I . . . feel like I can trust you."

"Anything you want to say, go ahead."

I felt like Vince was about to give me a long story, but I think he wanted someone to understand how he was feeling without giving that long story. He opened his mouth, then went back to looking down at the table. "I just wish he was here right now. I wish . . . he was here to straighten this all out. That's all I want." Tears began falling on the table.

He broke down in front of me. It didn't take me long to see that he was suffering a lot like Hicks; there was a big hole in his heart, and it wasn't healing. The wound kept reopening, and it was so much worse for Vince. Most families are able to move on and stay together. I guess this was a case where things fell apart for reasons I don't know.

Paulson must have been the one Vince always turned to for help and advice, same as Hicks. He even told me they had a better relationship when Vince became an adult. He lost his father, his friend, most of his world, and he was alone afterwards. Hicks at least had people trying to help him pull through, but Vince didn't.

I can't imagine trying to live through that without considering suicide myself.

I let Vince cry for as long as he needed. He looked so broken. He looked like he had been holding back everything for a long time. Frankly, I wasn't sure if I should let him continue drinking. He didn't touch his beer all that much, though, and I wasn't about to take it. Not after last night.

Vince was silent for a few minutes, still staring down at the table. "I really don't want to be alone anymore. I tried reaching out to people in the past, but they never responded."

"I thought you told me they just stopped contacting you, and you didn't bother," I replied.

"That was a lie. Drake, I lied to you. Dammit, I really tried keeping some of those friendships alive. I thought someone out there would . . . see me as more than just a connection to my dad."

"You want to be treated like you're your own person."

"Exactly."

I nodded. "I got that impression from you when we met a few days ago. You feel like other people simply saw you as his 'plus-two,' since his plus-one was probably your mother."

"Some of his colleagues were disappointed when I didn't enlist or get an officer's commission. That's why they decided not to talk to me anymore. Dad's not around to tell them to respect me."

"He respected your decision. You told me he even encouraged it. He approved of it. Isn't that . . . more important?"

Vince nodded.

I bit my lip, trying to think. _What would Ranelli tell him? _"I know . . . some people have probably told you that it's been five years, and you should've moved on a long time ago. Everyone grieves at their own pace, and . . . it definitely feels a lot harder when you're alone. I don't fully understand what you're going through. I partly do. I've lost my best friend for the next few weeks. It's not the same, but it's . . . no, it's not the same. Y-You can't . . . hide everything you're feeling, because that's not healthy. I know it's difficult to express emotions in front of people, especially people you don't know. I guess . . . you need to find someone you trust and fully show how you feel, that way it doesn't fester and lead to a bigger problem."

"You're right."

"I am?"

"Yeah." Vince dried his face with a napkin.

"So . . . do you want to keep talking, or-"

"I'd rather do it at home, but right now, I'm exhausted. I'm still struggling to process what happened today. If . . . you're not busy tomorrow, maybe you can stop by in the afternoon and we can talk."

"That's OK. I won't force you to do anything."

We both stood up, shook hands, and Vince pulled me into a hug. "I can't express how grateful I am for you, Drake."

"I didn't do anything."

"You did. Trust me. You're not an embarrassment or a failure."

* * *

I returned to base to find Apone coaching Crowe through the basics of the powerloader. The only thing I could think of was that Spunkmeyer was going to be royally pissed when he found out somebody else used his precious loader. I just hoped he didn't find out.

I learned that Ferro managed to get a ten-minute visit with Spunkmeyer down in the brig. In the gym, she told me that he was happy to see her, but he was overall miserable. Not a big surprise. He complained about the food and the lighting and how he couldn't use the toilet because the guards were pacing the hallway all the time and would look in each cell.

"Did you tell him to just do a little bit at a time when the guard leaves?" I asked, standing over Ferro as she got under a weight bar.

"Like I would know that!" Ferro rolled her eyes.

I smirked. "I'm just kidding. Hey, you got to see him. Do you feel . . . somewhat better?"

"Somewhat. There were people watching, so we couldn't kiss or anything-"

I leaned down to kiss her cheek before she could lift the bar up. "Not the same, but does it make up?"

"No. Besides, you're not all prickly like he is."

"I'll skip shaving tomorrow, then."

"Would Vasquez be OK with that?"

"Probably not."

"Then shave."

"OK." I grinned. "Give me five more reps. Come on, I know you can do it, sweetheart. You're only lifting about fifty-five pounds; I could do this in my sleep. Vasquez lifts more than you."

"Is that supposed to be encouraging?"

"I don't know."

"He's being an ass!" Vasquez yelled from across the room.

"I'm your favorite ass!"

"Do you have any idea what Hudson would say if he was here right now?"

"He'd start questioning which squad member has the best ass."

Ferro couldn't continue her reps because she was laughing. "It's obviously Spunkmeyer."

"No." Vasquez shook her head. "No, it's not."

I put my hands on my hips in mock disappointment. "Is there something you're not telling me? Have you seen Spunkmeyer naked?"

"I didn't want to see Spunkmeyer naked. You weren't there-this was the moon mission where I hurt my shoulder. We all had to live in very close quarters, so if you weren't careful, you might see somebody coming out of the shower room with nothing on." Vasquez rubbed her face.

"You saw a naked Spunkmeyer." I laughed.

Ferro's jaw dropped. "She saw him naked before I did?"

"At least it wasn't on purpose."

"It was fucking horrifying, Drake," Vasquez moaned.

"Hudson is horrifying. Spunkmeyer's fine," Ferro said.

"No, he's not."

I was still laughing. "Alright, honey, if you had to pick either Hudson or Spunkmeyer to stand in a room, naked, for five minutes, which would you go with? And you can't say 'neither' or 'Drake.'"

"Don't ask me that!"

"You must choose one!" I hugged her.

"Fine! Spunkmeyer."

"Really? Why?"

"He at least shuts up when you tell him to."

"Is that the only reason?"

"Yes."

"I still can't believe she saw Spunkmeyer naked before me," Ferro said.

"I saw him naked before you," I said. "But that's because all the guys have to shower together on some bases."

"I knew that."

"And it's not like Vasquez likes Spunkmeyer anyway."

"He's just ugly and annoying. I'll bet he humps the powerloader when no one's looking," Vasquez said while setting weights on her bar.

"Dietrich says the same thing about me, but she thinks I hump my smartgun," I snorted, climbing up onto the pull-up bar to do upside-down crunches. I then took off my shirt. "I better remove this for your viewing pleasure, ladies."

"Drake, your abs are pathetic, and they always will be pathetic."

"Especially compared to Frost," Ferro added.

Vasquez glared at her. "You're one to talk. Spunkmeyer doesn't have abs."

"Sometimes less abs are better," I said. "A little bit of a soft belly is OK. I think you said that once, Vasquez."

Her face turning red, Vasquez gave me a dirty look. "I never said that."

I grinned. "Yes, you did."

"Piss off."

"I love you, too." I tried sitting up, and felt a jab directly under my chest. "I forgot I haven't done these in a while because of my surgery," I grunted.

"You can do five more reps, can't you?" Ferro smirked.

"I can."

Vasquez stood next to me. As I sat up and lowered myself a second time, she kissed my cheek. "Two . . . Three . . . Come on, Drake, or no kisses."

As I finished up my reps, I took Vasquez's head and blew a big raspberry on her cheek.

Her expression didn't change. "Classy. You proud of yourself?"

"Very," I said.

"Good for you."

I got down from the bar just as Apone walked in the gym. He didn't seem to care that it was just the three of us. "Drake, I want to see you in my office."

"Uh-oh, what'd I do?" I asked.

"Nothing. I just need to talk to you."

Putting my shirt back on, I followed Apone down to his office, where he shut the door behind us. "I need you to keep this between us, understood?"

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"Drake, honest to God, I don't know what to do with this new hole Hicks got himself in."

"With the armor? I . . . I don't know, either. We need to see Paulson's will. Call Russell. Maybe he knows someone who can help. That armor belongs to Hicks."

"Did you physically see the will?"

"No, but I believe Vince-"

"I admire you for having faith in somebody, but that won't work here."

I've never seen Apone look defeated. He actually looked like he had no idea what to do. Hell, I think he was looking to _me_ for advice.

"Has Vince seen the will?"

"No. Why? I don't know. He knows what his mother told him, and that's it."

"There's probably something in there she doesn't want anyone to see. That's my guess," Apone said, rubbing his chin.

"Something damning to her or her husband?"

"Possibly. The only other person who could've seen the contents is Russell."

"Can you put me in contact with him?"

"I can do it first thing in the morning on Monday. He's not in his office on weekends unless it's an emergency."

I deflated a little, but I accepted it. "What do we do about Hicks?"

"Leave him alone for now. Best thing you can do."

"What if he-"

"Don't talk to him about it. Don't bring it up when he's in earshot. Just don't. I already told you, Drake, I will work my damndest to keep Hicks with us. But, if command says he needs to go because it's best for both his mental health and the unit, I can't refute that order. Don't even think about doing something boneheaded to try and keep him with us."

* * *

Waiting two days for some answers was going to be difficult. I tried to keep myself busy with writing letters to Hudson and Casey. Frankly, I still wasn't sure how to help Casey. I wished I could physically go to him, but I knew that wasn't happening. Not for a long time.

By late afternoon, I felt consumed by loneliness. I felt like nothing was going right, like everything was resting on my shoulders, and I couldn't fix anything. Without much of a second thought, I knocked on Ranelli's door, hoping to get some answers or relief or anything.

"Come in, Drake!" Ranelli called from one end of his office.

Frowning, I opened the door. "How the hell did you know it was me?"

"You always knock twice," Ranelli replied, not looking away from his bookshelf. "What can I do for you?"

"I guess . . . listen is the first thing you can do."

"Absolutely. I'm all ears."

"Well . . . I'm sure you heard about . . . Hicks and Paulson's armor."

"Apone spoke to me about that a few hours ago. I agree that we should speak to the only other witness to the will, that being General Russell, and then we start tackling the issue."

"I just don't understand why Paulson's widow would try to hide this from her own son, and from Hicks."

"Any number of reasons. It may not be an issue of her no longer loving her son and Hicks, it could possibly be an issue of loving them so much that she doesn't want their image of Paulson to be tainted."

"Couldn't that be kept private and Hicks can still get Paulson's armor?"

"There's still the question of what exactly was in the will. Hicks would need to see it to get the items that are rightfully his, and he should have his own physical copy in case a court issue arises. Not to mention, there could be something in there that Vincent was given but never received."

"I feel bad for Vince," I said. "I can't believe . . . he's been alone in his grief for five years and he's still going about his day."

"You go about your day, but there's still a lot beneath your surface that many people don't see upon first glance."

"I know, and there's . . . a lot I want to ask, but I don't know how, and I think it'd make me look like a bad friend if I just keep bringing it up all the time."

"That's why you should get your answers. It sounds like there's still a lot you don't know. What is it you want to ask?"

I bit my lip. "Has he ever contemplated suicide? I mean, I can't imagine going through five years of grief and pain and . . . not once even thinking about it."

"When the opportunity presents itself, ask. He might be grateful for someone else knowing, because it means he has someone he can trust, and you wouldn't break that trust."

I shook my head. "No, I wouldn't."

"You've been through it. Granted, you've stopped yourself because you understand that you have a wonderful support system, but Vince doesn't. You need to be that support system."

"I guess that brings me to why I'm here. I . . . feel like this is all resting on my shoulders. There's this, there's the fact that I want to help Casey, I'm missing Hudson, and I'm worried about what could happen with Hicks if he doesn't show signs of improvement. Why do I feel responsible for all of this?"

"Because you love them. Not only that, but, yes, I do understand that you deal with unwarranted guilt because of the combination of your past and your post-traumatic stress, but the people you mentioned are all people you legitimately care about it. You want to help them. However, wanting to help does not equal feeling responsible, because you're not responsible. Let's take this apart into manageable pieces. What's going on with Casey?"

"I got a letter from him this morning, and . . . he said that he's been having difficulties with kids on the playground because they don't believe his story about staying with me, and that I'm a figment of his imagination. His parents said that he shouldn't talk to me anymore, and he doesn't want to quit talking to me, because I'm the only person who believes he can become a smartgunner."

"Do you believe that?"

"I made it. I was humiliated for almost every second of my training, but . . . if I made it, I believe Casey can if he works hard at it. Look, I didn't know what I wanted to do with myself when I was his age. I don't want him to end up like me in the sense that . . . no one supported me, no one cared to help me find out who I was and what I wanted. I know he's not my son, but . . ." I trailed off, unsure of how to continue my thought.

"Deep down, you wish he was."

"I don't. That's a horrible thing to say."

"Is it how you really feel? Drake, these conversations don't leave this room. You are allowed to admit to me privately that's how you feel."

I swallowed. "Yes. It . . . is."

"I take it that's something you want, to become a parent."

I nodded. "Taking care of Casey made me feel good about myself, and . . . that I can be a good father if I'm given the opportunity. But, I know that I still have three more years until someone evaluates me and decides I can become a civilian again if I want it."

"You had the ability to be a good father long before you took care of Casey. All you needed was for something to come along and awaken that instinct. It takes a lot more than that to care for a child. I think you need a little more time, not only to be emotionally ready, but to be physically and financially ready as well."

"What do I do for right now? I can't cut contact with Casey."

"While supporting Casey, emotionally, is important, it's also important he does not become dependent on you. You need to encourage him to find friends, do well in school, and pursue his other interests."

I sighed. "I can do that."

"Good."

There was silence before I took another breath, and stood up. "That's all I can put into words right now," I said. "Thanks for the help."

"Not a problem. Come back anytime, Drake."

* * *

_Question: Should Drake question Vince's mental health at the start of their next conversation? Why or why not?_


	15. Chapter 15

On Monday, I followed Apone into the communication room to talk with General Russell about Paulson's will. There was a lot of legal language I don't understand, but Russell requested that Vince see him privately. Why Vince and not Hicks? I don't know. Maybe he was expecting Vince would tell Hicks.

When I left the communication room, I headed to the gym for daily exercises. Music was playing and everyone was doing something, but it was still quiet without Hudson and Spunkmeyer. My partner is usually Hudson, and I guess this was one of those moments where I started really missing him.

You can imagine my surprise when Frost walked into the lounge that afternoon, saying, "Drake, you got a phone call."

"From who?" I asked.

"Just come down to the phone room."

I sighed as I walked down the base's call center. One of the phones was already off its hook, so I sat down and picked it up. "Who is it?"

"Guess, man."

I knew that voice. I wanted to run up and hug him, but I knew that wasn't possible right now. "Good to hear your voice, Hudson."

"Good to hear yours, too, Drake. I didn't know we could get phone calls during training. I thought it'd just be letters. We were good this weekend, that's why we got this opportunity."

"Well, great. How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Very tired, man. Five more weeks to go."

"You can do it. We all have faith in you here, buddy."

"Thanks." Hudson let out a heavy sigh. "Oh, tell Hicks I say, 'happy belated birthday,' man. How'd he take his surprise?"

"That's a long story. I'll detail it in my letter to you."

"Uh-oh, was he mad?"

"Not really. Like I said, it's a long story, and I don't think you have time to listen to me outline it all."

"You're right, man, I don't." Hudson swallowed, and he sounded like he was trying not to cry. "Other people're listening, so . . . I think I'll save stuff for my letter, too."

"Are you sure you're OK?"

"I don't know, man." He swallowed again. "I miss you guys, a-and I've been . . . I've been having nightmares-"

"Wrap it up, Hudson!" someone shouted.

"I've been having nightmares about that mission in Romania. Gotta run, man. Take care."

I was still holding the phone long after he hung up. A feeling of powerlessness washed over me, and waves of dread surged in my stomach.

* * *

I endured that dread feeling for the rest of the day, and all night. Aside from dread, I wasn't sure what to feel. My nightmares got worse. You know those dreams I had where Hudson would get shot, or shoot himself, and silver would spout out of him? Those came back. I watched it spill from his wrists, and his neck, and everywhere else. And I could do _nothing_.

I cried when I woke up this morning. I didn't want to do anything, not even talk to Vince about his meeting with Russell. I could feel myself breaking down from the inside. Everything I've built up to try and keep myself from having flashbacks at the worst possible time was coming down.

I was thinking about my nightmares during our exercises today. I thought about the silver gunk flowing from every orifice on Hudson's face. I set down my weights, and felt bands start tightening around my chest. Remaining seated on the bench, I found myself becoming enveloped in memories, and I couldn't pull myself out of it. The bands continued to tighten, and I was struggling to breathe. Voices were muffled, and then I felt someone slamming the defibrillator down on my chest. I jolted, yet I didn't come out of my flashback.

Eventually, it started to fade, and I noticed Wierzbowski was sitting with me. When he saw me begin returning to reality, he touched my shoulder. "Are you OK?"

I shook my head.

Wierzbowski stood up, and approached Apone. "Sir? Drake needs to go out for air."

Apone gestured his OK, and then Wierzbowski helped me stand before walking with me out of the gym. "You'll be alright," he said, softly. "We'll go in the courtyard, let you breathe."

Roughly ten minutes passed before I felt like I could talk again. I released my breath before saying, "I need to help Hudson."

"What's going on?" Wierzbowski asked.

"He called yesterday. Right before his DI dragged him away, he said that he's been having nightmares about what happened in Romania. I have to help him. Then I started having nightmares about him . . . cutting his wrists and hanging himself and that silver liquid was everywhere."

Looking down at the ground, Wierzbowski gave a sad sigh. "I wish I could help, too, but . . . honest to God, there's nothing we can do other than send him uplifting letters every week." He looked at me. "And don't you dare say this is your fault, because it's not. Hudson was going to go through this whether you were involved or not."

"What can I do, then?"

"I just told you, keep writing to him-"

"No, what do I do about _my_ nightmares?"

"Talk to your therapist?" Wierzbowski shrugged. "I really don't know how to help you in that department. Believe me, I wish I could."

* * *

Over the last several days, things got quiet on all fronts. No one said anything about Paulson's armor. No one said anything about Hudson. No one said anything about Spunkmeyer, or Hicks, or Vince, or anyone.

Hicks seemed to be trying to act like his normal self, and we were all afraid he would explode at any minute. Instead of exploding, Hicks took me aside after PT Friday morning. "Did Vince tell you anything about his meeting with Russell?"

Why Hicks was asking me now, I don't know. "No, he didn't. I'm sorry. If he did, I would've told you."

Hicks fell silent, looking down at his boots.

"It's my fault. I was going to talk to him a few days ago, and I didn't-"

"No, Drake, it's fine. I should've made plans to talk to him myself. We have to."

"I . . . take it you don't want me involved?"

"Vince trusts you. A lot. I feel like you're going to be involved whether anyone likes it or not. The only thing I ask is that you don't see Julia by yourself. Can you do that?"

I nodded.

"Thanks. I would appreciate it if you just respect what I want rather than fly off on your own harebrained quests." Hicks's gaze hardened.

Here I was, expecting Hicks was actually calm and willing to accept whatever input I had on this, but . . . well, I really should've known better. At any other point in time, I probably would've started arguing with him, but I decided to not say anything other than, "OK." For the record, I had no plans to confront Paulson's widow on my own.

That was it for that conversation, though. Once I said "OK," Hicks walked away, and I really wanted to know when this horrific cycle for him would end.

* * *

I arrived at the mail room early Saturday morning, hoping I got another letter from Hudson. Sure enough, there was an envelope in my box with Virginia in the return address.

"_Saturday - Not much happened today. Lots of physical exercises. The good news is that I passed the first week. One guy had a breakdown, though. Everything was calm up until he sank to his knees in the woods and started crying. I sat with him until he felt like he could go on. No different than what I do with you. I got rewarded for helping a fellow Marine, but he was removed from the program. Where he's going, I don't know, but I felt bad about it all day. Now that I know something like that can get me kicked out, I've been watching how I feel, and when I feel it. The others won't say anything to the DIs if you start crying when they're not looking. It's kind of an unwritten rule among them._

"_Sunday - I didn't sleep well last night. I had heard some clanging and grinding sounds in the vent systems in the ceiling from the heat turning on, but I guess something in my brain felt it sounded too much like when the gas tube was being jammed in the vent of the radio station I was hiding in during the Romania mission. That's all I dreamed about. I woke up several times feeling like I couldn't breathe. The first time, I wanted to call out for you, but then I remembered you're over three hundred miles away. The feeling of being completely alone made the dreams worse, because that's how I felt when I was trapped._

"_In the morning, as soon as Wixyn and our two sergeants arrived to wake us up, I kept everything to myself. I didn't know where to go or what to do. Even though we got to go to the PX store didn't change anything. I wandered around and didn't get anything other than a phone card. As much as I wanted to call you guys today, I didn't know what to say without bursting into tears. When we got back to the barracks, I ended up hiding in the bathroom to cry. Two other Marines sat with me, without even knowing why I was upset. They had their hands on my shoulders and didn't leave until I felt somewhat better. I had no appetite for the rest of the day, but I forced myself to eat anyways._

"_Monday - Did more written tests and scenarios for the first part of the day, then got the chance to call you. I'm sorry I didn't have more time to talk, especially since all I left you with is the fact that I've been having nightmares. It wasn't a good note to end on, but someone had to know._

"_Tuesday - Dreamt I was kicked out of the Marines entirely, with no chance of being able to see you or anyone else again. I still have five more weeks of this. I can't quit. Quitting means I'll get kicked out, and I really will never see you again. I can't do that to you. I can't imagine the look on your face if someone told you I wasn't coming back. I don't want to. Ever. I'm not even doing this for me anymore, because I can't just stop and say I'll do this another time. Believe me, I want to stop. Nothing has made me regret my past behavior more than this._

"_Wednesday - I caved in and made an appointment with the base chaplain today. After I explained what was going on and how I was feeling, he told me what I was feeling was normal in regards to wanting to quit. As for my nightmares, he suggested that I had been suppressing the memories of that mission, which didn't surprise me. They're only now returning because I'm in a similar situation where I feel alone and helpless, which probably means I didn't do a good job managing them after the mission. That's my fault. I should've talked to you guys more._

"_Thursday - They served fried chicken for dinner. I wasn't going to write today because we didn't do much of anything, but I felt a lot better after some decent food. It's amazing how something so simple just makes everything seem more tolerable. I know I've seen your mood shift upwards when we go out in the city for dinner or something._

"_Friday - We played some capture-the-flag games this morning. I'll admit, it's a lot more fun with you and the rest of the squad. Usually, Wierzbowski would have someone on the other team who has the flag over his shoulder, and claim it counts as his team having the flag. No one did anything clever like that today (then again, we don't have any big guys in our group). It made me miss you guys even more. Tell everyone I love 'em. - Hudson._"

As much as I was glad Hudson was OK, I still felt powerless.

* * *

It was just me, Vasquez, and Ferro in the lounge that night. Frost and Crowe were out in the city, and Wierzbowski was helping Dietrich in sick bay. I had my arms around both Vasquez and Ferro while we watched a movie.

"Hudson's annoying, but at least he kept things from getting boring," Vasquez said.

"I told you that you'd miss him." I grinned and kissed her forehead.

"Spunkmeyer's going to be so pissed when he finds out Crowe was using his loader," Ferro muttered.

"He won't be able to use it for awhile when he gets out, right?"

"Not for a month. And he's got fines to pay." Ferro let out a quiet sigh. "I just want him back."

Vasquez looked at her. "How many times have you slept with him?"

"Technically three times. Only had sex once."

"First time?"

Ferro nodded.

"Little awkward?"

Another nod.

"Always awkward the first time." Vasquez rested her head on my chest, gesturing to me. "He was a bit of a chicken his first time."

"Was not," I said.

"Yes, you were. You were anxious, and you made the weirdest sound, like you weren't sure whether to grunt, bark, or moan."

"I can't believe you remember that."

"It was only, what, two years ago?"

"Feels like forever ago."

"I'm shocked you don't remember."

"I do remember. You always remember your first time."

"And I remember that you were nervous and making funny noises."

"I remember you were really cold."

"It was early November! Of course I was cold."

"Yeah, I remember I was cold, too. You get cold easily, honey." I pulled a blanket off the arm of the couch, and draped it over Vasquez and myself.

Ferro reached over to grab part of the blanket. "I'm cold, too."

I smirked. "You two should be cozier than kittens in a plush bed." I pulled them both closer to me. "You've got me and my body heat, plus a blanket."

"At least you smell good," Vasquez replied.

"He does smell good," Ferro added. "Body wash or cologne?"

"Body wash," I said. "Why? Do you wanna get some for Spunkmeyer?"

"Maybe."

"He needs something that fits him. What I have might be a little intense on him. He needs something . . . a little subtler."

"He needs something that doesn't suggest he's hairy and a little chunky underneath his uniform," Vasquez said.

"Is it strange I miss that?" Ferro asked.

"No, it means you've learned to love some of his flaws," I replied.

"I miss his stubble, too. Even though he's a little prickly, he's a great kisser."

"Define 'great kisser.'"

"He's just a good kisser, that's all."

"He doesn't try to French-kiss, does he?" Vasquez asked.

"No. God, no."

"Good."

I looked at Vasquez. "Remember when Hudson-"

"Let's not talk about that. Ever. It was disgusting."

"Hey, he had three of those cotton candy cupcakes, so his puke was blue and pink. It was hilarious."

"Oh, yeah? How about last month when we all went to dinner and Spunkmeyer tried getting up on the karaoke stage."

"Still nothing compared to Hudson vomiting cotton candy. Spunkmeyer has a long ways to go before he matches the master of drunken antics."

"Spunkmeyer still has to turn twenty-one first," Ferro said. "Next April. But you guys are not taking him out to drink. I'll do something special with him."

"He deserves to spend that special day with you," I replied. "One more week, and he'll be out of the brig."

Ferro didn't continue the conversation. She remained nestled next to me, probably thinking about all the time she could be having with Spunkmeyer wasting away.

* * *

I met up with Vince for coffee the next morning to talk about the armor situation. He seemed hesitant at first, but then looked down at the table before speaking.

"Russell said that the will was only part of what he found in that file from Dad's office," Vince started, "I don't know why he didn't . . . tell me five years ago, but, whatever, I got ignored because I wasn't important-anyway, there was the will, and there were some other documents about his military stuff-all of which, according to Russell, were supposed to go to Dwayne, and they didn't, and . . . there was also a note. Russell . . . claimed that this was . . . a suicide note."

"Why the hell would he not tell you or Hicks about this?" I asked.

"He thought Mom would. He didn't want us to know he looked at the file's contents. He didn't know that she wouldn't tell us."

"And why would she want to hide it from you? He was your father, you deserve to know more than anyone."

"That's what I said! Somehow, that didn't matter. Maybe there's a truth to him that she doesn't want me to know."

"You still deserve to know, and so does Hicks. He's been blaming himself for the last five years. Maybe he can finally stop getting upset every time someone mentions Paulson."

Vince was quiet for a few moments. "I don't want this tearing us apart."

"Hiding something like this from you isn't exactly an 'I love you.'"

"Drake, I don't want this tearing us apart."

"Either you get your answer, or you stay submissive. That's all I'm getting from this."

"'Submissive'-Where did you get that from?"

"That's what you are in this situation. You're not standing up for yourself. You're not demanding what's rightfully yours. You're just letting people walk over you. You can't let the fact that this woman is your mother stand in the way. How she's treated you, and how many of your father's comrades treated you after he died, is not acceptable. Am I seriously the first person to tell you this?"

Again, Vince was silent. He then sighed, saying, "You might be, Drake."

* * *

_Question: Is Drake burdening himself by getting involved with Hicks's issues?_


	16. Chapter 16

I decided to visit Miranda to see how she was doing after over a week of no interaction with Hudson. He's been sending her letters, but it's not the same as physical interaction. And I wanted another massage to help myself decompress after my conversation with Vince.

I had called Miranda ahead of time, so she was already set up to give me that massage when I entered her apartment. "Hey, Mark," she said, closing the curtains on the balcony doors.

"Hey." I took off my boots. "I'm not taking too much time out of your day, am I?"

"No. I took today off. Been taking several days off, actually." Miranda sighed, rubbing her face before watching me remove my uniform trousers and shirt.

"I kinda figured you wouldn't take this well. Hudson being gone, I mean." I lay on the table.

"Well, when he's on another base, I'm used to him calling every day. With this . . . I dunno. I miss him. I miss his voice, his face, his . . . his smell."

I laughed. "I don't!"

Miranda gave me a look. "We're thinking of two different smells, aren't we?"

"I think we are."

"No, his general odor, and his body wash." Miranda leaned in to give me a sniff. "You smell good, too."

"Thanks."

"Anyway, I miss everything about him. A lot. This is the longest I've ever dated someone. I mean, we've gotten so far, Mark! There's a future here." Miranda started gently rubbing my back before gradually pressing down harder.

I gave a slight grunt of pain when she pressed on the center of my back, right next to my spine. "You and Hudson haven't been discussing marriage and stuff, have you?"

"We discussed marriage once. All we did was talk about what our dream weddings are. Nothing serious. Haven't brought it up since."

"Jesus, I just realized it's been a year since you two started dating-_ow!_" I yelped.

"Hold still. You're all tense. Relax and breathe."

I let out my breath, and loudly groaned.

"Unclench your fists, Mark. That's right, I haven't done this on you since you had your surgery; there's no bandage in the way. What was I talking about? Oh, yeah, I can't believe it's been a year, either. Feels like it's been a lot longer."

There was some silence while I let Miranda do her work on me. I'd grunt and moan (sometimes from pain, sometimes from pleasure), but that was it.

"How do you feel?" Miranda asked.

"Better," I said. "I think I took on more than I can handle. First, Hudson leaves. Then Hicks finds out his mentor left him a bunch of stuff but the widow won't give it to him for whatever reason. Now, Paulson's son is having some issues, and I offered to help. I'm so tired."

"Aww, poor Mark." Miranda kissed my cheek, then pressed down hard between my shoulder blades. Once my back and shoulders were done, she made me turn over. "Your scar's fading pretty good."

"Thanks." I couldn't talk once she started massaging my chest, as I could feel air being forced out of my lungs.

"Let your breath out," Miranda said. "That's it . . . just go slow . . . and relax."

Much like the first time I got a massage, I relaxed and enjoyed it after getting used to the feeling of it. The only time I really jolted a little was when Miranda massaged the lower portion of my chest and parts of my stomach, because I've never had that touched by anyone other than Vasquez.

"Will hated this the first time," Miranda said. She gave a slightly sad sigh.

"Really? He's done a lot of things with strange girls, but he didn't like getting massaged?"

"Hard to believe, huh. Yeah, now, he loves it."

"And I'm not the same."

"No, you're not."

I smirked. "He'll be back before you know it. He can make phone calls, you know."

"How'd you find out?"

"He called me."

"Why didn't he call me?"

"Well, he only had two minutes, and he . . . he's been having a bit of a rough time."

"He hasn't been talking about a rough time in his letters to me."

"He probably doesn't want to worry you."

"What's he been telling you?"

"He's having nightmares about Romania. He feels alone."

Miranda sighed. "Poor Will . . . And there's nothing we can do!" She pressed down on my lower belly in frustration.

I made a pained sound. "That was my bladder. No, all we can do is send letters and let him know he's loved."

"What if something happens? What if he starts thinking about hurting himself?"

"I don't think he will. He's seeing a chaplain, hopefully regularly."

"I'm still worried."

"Well, I'm worried, too. I think he'll be fine. Can I use your bathroom?"

Miranda looked defeated. "Fine."

I got off the table, glad that I was feeling a lot looser now. After closing the door to the bathroom, I noticed that there were towels and toothbrushes and other hygiene items set aside for Hudson on the sink and shelves for when he spent the night. I could imagine them goofing around and having fun with something as simple as getting ready for bed. It was the little things like that which made their relationship what it is. Yeah, I can see them getting married someday. And I hope that "someday" is after Hudson gets his discharge, because he's not ready right now.

After relieving myself and washing my hands, I went back out to the living room. I expected Miranda to be waiting by the table to finish my massage, but, instead, she was sitting on the couch, her head in her hands. Sighing quietly, I sat next to her, and gave her a hug, despite the fact that I was only in my shorts. "He will be back before you know it, and I can guarantee he's gonna see you . . . after me," I said. "He'll probably spend the night with you and you two can do . . . whatever you damn well do when you're alone together. And make sure you feed him because I'm pretty sure the first thing he'll announce is that he's hungry, and he's not gonna want fucking base rations."

I let Miranda cry for as long as she needed. I kinda knew this was going to happen sooner or later, so I sat there and let her use my bare chest as a crying pillow. She did eventually finish the massage, but not before I had to dry her tears off me.

* * *

I haven't written anything in a couple of days due to just not feeling motivated. And nothing interesting happened.

The good news is that Spunkmeyer was set to be released tomorrow, so Ferro was in a better mood. She was still hanging around me and Vasquez a lot, but she was less depressed.

"You're probably planning something special for him, aren't you?" I asked when everyone was in the lounge that night.

"Nothing fancy," Ferro replied. "I don't know how he'll feel when he comes back."

"Yeah, you got a point." I sighed.

"I just want to see him and hold him again. That's all."

"And you will."

It was no surprise everyone was talking about Spunkmeyer that night, and I was definitely expecting that our reunion with him would be a joyous occasion.

I was, unsurprisingly, wrong. Spunkmeyer was escorted to the mess hall shortly after breakfast, and he was looking down the whole time. Once the two MPs left, he looked up at me, and gave me the dirtiest look. "I'd hit you, but I just got outta the brig and I don't feel like going back!" he shouted. "You and your fucking failure of a plan got me into this!"

"You went along with it!" I yelled. "You have no one to blame but yourself for getting in trouble!"

"Well, so do you! You went through Hicks's shit, but you didn't see a second of jail-time!"

"I spent _three years_ in prison! What you did was nothing!"

Spunkmeyer drew in his breath, and stopped. "You get away with too much shit because of your PTSD," he growled, before marching down to his bedroom.

I was hurt, but I was also hoping that he had gotten out his pent-up feelings and would return to normal.

As the day went on, Spunkmeyer gradually returned to his normal duties (save for the powerloader), but he wasn't smiling and laughing with everyone else. He looked sad, and I later learned from Ferro that he regretted screaming at me after breakfast. It wasn't something he should've done, and I did get an apology before dinner.

It was nice to have one other person at dinner. Despite us expecting Spunkmeyer to complain about something, he wolfed down his food like he had never eaten before in his life.

"Even Hudson is slow when it comes to the base's burgers," Frost said.

"It's better than the fucking oatmeal and soup down in the brig," Spunkmeyer replied with his mouth full.

"Well, since Hudson isn't here, maybe you can be our human garbage disposal," I suggested, pushing my tray in Spunkmeyer's direction.

"Yes. Gimme." Spunkmeyer grabbed the trays of anyone who offered.

"I wouldn't let your fingers get too close to him," I said. "Might get them bitten off."

"Shut it, Drake."

I grinned. It really was nice to have Spunkmeyer back.

He seemed back to his old self later that night in the lounge, laughing and talking, non-stop. He walked in after his shower wearing his sweatpants rather than shorts, and Frost said, "Dude, aren't you hot?"

Spunkmeyer's face reddened. "Well . . . my shorts were a little tight and I remembered I ate like I would at Thanksgiving, so I put the 'winter weight' pants on."

"I mean, we have been missing Hudson a lot," I laughed. "Now all we need you to do is lay on the couch and cradle your stomach like he does."

"No, he'd be shaking all the cookies out of the vending machine," Frost replied.

"Lookit, I'm stuffed. I'm not gonna be Hudson." Spunkmeyer flopped on the couch, and Ferro snuggled up next to him. He smiled at her. "Hi."

"Hi," Ferro whispered. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too." Spunkmeyer nuzzled her face, and then lowered his voice. "Hey, you can, ah, sleep in my room tonight. I know you've been feeling a little lonely at night the last three weeks."

Ferro grinned, kissing Spunkmeyer's cheek. They remained close until Hicks came around to tell us to go to bed.

Things were quiet-too quiet-for me. It's been three weeks since Hudson left, and I'm still not used to not hearing him snoring next door. I sat up in bed for about a half-hour with a book Ranelli had let me borrow, and was about to turn the lamp off and go to sleep when Vasquez walked in.

"Drake, can I spend the night with you?" she whispered.

"Sure. Everything OK?" I asked, pulling back the covers so she could join me.

"It's Spunkmeyer and Ferro. All I hear is giggling and whispering and then Ferro yelped."

"They're probably getting busy. Yeah, you can stay with me." I moved over as Vasquez climbed in. "Other than that, how are you?"

"I just want some sleep," she sighed.

"OK." I put my arms around her as she settled down. "Go to sleep," I whispered.

Neither of us went to sleep right away. We gazed at each other, smiling, and then kissed. "I love you," I said.

"I love you, too," Vasquez whispered.

We cuddled-silently. There was a point where we heard Ferro give a short shriek, followed by Spunkmeyer laughing and shushing her, and Vasquez clenched her fists. "I'm gonna kill both of them in the morning."

* * *

Thankfully, Vasquez didn't kill anyone in the morning. As we were putting our trays away in the mess hall, an MP and Bishop walked in, trailed by Vince. The MP gestured for Vince to step forward and speak.

"Can I talk to Drake and Dwayne in private?" Vince asked.

I shrugged, and Hicks looked down at his boots. "What do you want?" Hicks asked.

"I just said, I'll talk when we're alone."

Glancing at me, Hicks sighed before we followed Vince to the courtyard. Once we were seated, I noticed his gaze softened. "Anything new?"

"No. I don't want to talk about that. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for bringing it up."

"Why are you sorry? That should've been brought up a long time ago."

"You can't blame yourself for this," I said. "It's not your fault that things are messed up." I tilted my head a little. "Why are you blaming yourself anyway?"

Vince looked at the table. "I guess it's because I don't know what else to do. It's . . . This isn't how I wanted things to go when you mentioned getting back into contact with Dwayne."

"Sometimes, things don't go as planned," Hicks said. "I didn't want this either, and . . . I've been fighting the urge to fly into a rage ever since things went downhill." He looked Vince in the eye, and gestured to me. "I'm pretty sure big-mouth over here told you what's going on when he first met you."

"Hey, don't be rude to Drake, OK?"

"Fine, sorry."

"Look, I know this is . . . going to be a hellish process, but I don't want any miscommunications between the three of us. I want us all on the same page, so we can tackle this issue head on."

"If you want that, you need to promise me something," I said. "You cannot let people push you around anymore."

Vince nodded, looking down again. "I'm trying, Drake."

"Don't be upset about it. Just let me help you. This'll take time; you won't change overnight."

"None of this will change overnight," Hicks added, glancing at both of us.

"I think Russell's gonna do the best he can," Vince replied. "He did . . . tell me something that might explain a few things, though."

"What?"

Vince took a breath. "Dad's suicide note is in the will. That might be why Mom hasn't let anyone see it."

Hicks got quiet. "We need to see it. No questions asked. I want to put this to rest."

"Same." Vince's gaze flicked between me and Hicks, and he swallowed past tears. "He was put to rest five years ago, but no one's actually letting him do so."

Hicks nodded. "We'll take care of this. And, hey, no matter what happens, Vince, you're always welcome here."

* * *

"Don't you break my loader, you hear?!" Spunkmeyer was watching Crowe operate his powerloader, under supervision. "You do not deserve your license if you hurt my baby!"

Apone glared at him. "I'm the one who says whether he gets his license or not. Now, you can watch quietly, or go clean the pool."

For a moment, I wondered if I saw smoke coming out of Spunkmeyer's ears. He folded his arms over his chest, fuming to himself.

Ferro looked at me. "You know, I knew this was going to happen when I learned they were training Crowe as a backup operator."

I nodded. "It's good to see him back to normal, though. Fussing over his powerloader like he gave birth to it or something."

"He fusses over that thing more than me."

"He did get his license long before you started dating."

"He kissed me in training. Long before he got his license."

"Ah, so you are his first love." I grinned.

"Yes."

"Well, it was five years before you two decided to date. He had plenty of time to form a relationship with another woman, but he chose this machine."

"His damn powerloader is the other woman."

I laughed. "Perhaps it is."

"That's why he's never going to catch up to you, Hudson, and Wierzbowski in terms of 'best boyfriend.'"

"I did hear you two having fun last night."

Ferro blushed. "You did?"

"Yeah. Vasquez slept with me because you and Spunkmeyer were a bit loud."

"Oh. Sorry."

"I have to ask, though, since . . . last night was your second time . . . was it less awkward?"

"Actually, yes. And you know what-" Ferro lowered her voice, "It was great. Not quite like my dreams, but so much better than the first time."

"Hey, I told you it'd get better."

"And I believed you." Ferro offered me a small smile. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For being so helpful."

"Admit it, I'm your best friend."

"After Spunkmeyer."

"Yes. After Spunkmeyer." I put my hands in my pockets. "So, are you going out with him tonight, or should I grab Vasquez and the four of us go somewhere?"

Before Ferro could answer, Frost walked into the loading bay, holding a magazine. His face was stained with tears of laughter, and he showed the magazine first to Apone. "Look, Sarge, remember when that photographer was in here doing that article on base life? Look what got in!"

Apone started laughing, and I noticed Spunkmeyer's eyes going wide and his face turning red.

Frost jogged over to me and Ferro. "Look."

Among the photographs of Hudson hugging me and Wierzbowski, Crowe working on the APC, and Ferro in the dropship cockpit, there was a picture of Spunkmeyer in a ridiculous pose in front of his powerloader, with the caption, "_PFC Daniel Spunkmeyer trained to use the P-5000 Powerloader shortly after being assigned to his unit five years ago. He's formed a strong bond with his machine._"

"Oh my God," was all Ferro could say.

I was holding my stomach while laughing.

Spunkmeyer was looking in our direction, clearly embarrassed. "I didn't think they'd put that in!"

"I gotta show the rest of the guys," Frost said. "Hey, Drake, should I clip it out and send it to Hudson?"

"I think it'll get confiscated for having suggestive implications," I giggled. "He'd sooner get away with a swimsuit photo from his girlfriend."

"We should be glad Spunk was fully clothed here."

"It wouldn't have been printed if he wasn't!"

Ferro looked at Spunkmeyer, who was hanging his head in shame. "I'll be fair, you are adorable here. Maybe you should do the same pose later . . . _not_ fully clothed."

"In private. Please," I added.

"It's a joke, I'm not gonna actually ask him to do that," Ferro whispered.

"Oh. Are we still doing dinner?"

"Yeah." Ferro glanced at Spunkmeyer again. "Wanna go on a double date with Drake and Vasquez?"

"Last time we did that, I got drunk," Spunkmeyer replied.

"Then don't drink tonight."

"Fine, but we're going somewhere that sells New York pizza."

* * *

I was glad that this double date didn't end in disaster like the first one. We actually talked and laughed with each other, and no one got completely wasted.

I'm on the last page of this journal, so I'll wrap this entry up quickly. I've looked back and realized this past month wasn't the best. There were a lot of "down" moments for me, but it wasn't completely miserable. I lost Hudson, temporarily, but I also gained a friend in Vince. I also strengthened my bond with Ferro, and helped her improve her relationship with Spunkmeyer.

Did I do anything? Not really. I didn't improve my cardio or muscular endurance. I didn't take a trip or go on an adventure. Mainly, I just tried to be a better friend for those I genuinely care about. I managed to stop being so paranoid about my relationship with Vasquez-we still have a strong bond. We have our ups and downs, and the important thing is that we work on them. Once in awhile, however, we need other people, especially when we're not sure how to work through those tough spots.

I'm proud of myself, for once. It's something I've been trying to feel for a long time, and I feel like I'm slowly moving toward the right direction.

* * *

_Question: If Drake could speak to his past self at the start of "Boreal Nightmare," what do you think he'd say?_


End file.
